Milf Gone Wild

Losing Control

2007-12-20T15:37:00.000-08:00

Taxiing my way into the office (my car was still rather inconveniently parked outside my office), I tried to doze, but it proved impossible, due to the squawking emanating from the cab radio, which magnified my hangover a hundred fold.

“Can you please turn off that screeching,” I yelled at the cabbie through the partition. “It sounds like a bunch of parakeets.”

“Mackaw actually.”

“Mackaws, parakeets, whatever. Turn it off.”

“I mean, it’s The Curly Mackaw Show.” Of course it was. If I really strained my ears I could make out a few words here and there. Each snippet: “What dykes need is a good shagging” … ”She gives me a raging hard on”, even “Sponsored by Villorex,” were like jagged bits of glass being inserted into my skull.

“It’s just that my head’s very sensitive this morning,” I said, pressing my hands over my ears. Hearing the word Villorex made me yearn, with a sudden abrupt longing, for Connor, but even that thought was drowned out by the roar of pain in my head.

I was never drinking again. It was official. I simply wasn’t up to it after so many years of clean living.

“All right, love,” said the cabbie, clicking off Curly. “What’s eating you? Time of the month is it?”

I sank back into the seat and closed my eyes, hoping for a bit of peace, but instead images from last night popped into my head. Dancing with Sachiko, listening to her pour her heart out, Malc and Chad making eyes at each other, flashing lights. What was the significance of those lights, I wondered? Probably strobe lights on the dance floor, I figured.

Once I was sitting down behind my desk, my head began to feel heavy, like I was trying to balance a rock on a pipe cleaner. It wouldn’t matter if I just laid it down for a second, would it?

My head had just crashed down onto my outstretched palms, when I heard a peppy voice say, “Scarlett? What on earth’s the matter?”

“What?” I jerked upright. My PA, Nicki, gradually came into focus, short hair framing an elfin face. She was holding a newspaper against her chest.

“Well, this is a turn up for the books. You’re hungover aren’t you?”

“No, not at all. I’ve just got a bit of a migraine, that’s all,” I fibbed. Nicki had never seen me in such a state and I felt pretty embarrassed.

“Well, well, you have been a busy girl,” she said. “Your friend Sachiko’s in all the papers.”

I’d told her I was going to yesterday’s taping with Sachiko. The excitement of me knowing a celebrity had obviously gone to her head.

“Some friend. She practically forced me to go to this club with her last night.”

“Whatever you say.” She thrust the newspaper under my nose. “This is page thirteen of the Star. It’s in the Sun too, and a few others.”

“Look Nicki, no offence, but my head’s killing me.” I squinted at the picture of Sachiko leaning out of a car window, kissing some blonde chick.

“So Sachiko has a new girlfriend? So what?” I said brusquely.

“Well, look, I don’t have a problem with it. But I think you should know you’ve got the gossipmongers at Zanorax in quite a flurry.”

“Why?” I asked, perplexed. My brain was groaning with the effort of making sense of what she was saying. I guess she’d told everyone I was meeting Sachiko last night. “Because I hang out with gay people?”

Nicki was staring at me like I had boogers hanging out of both nostrils.

“Is there anything else?” I said. “Because I’d really like to get started on some work.”

“So, this is no big deal to you?” she said eventually. “This is who you are now?”

I thought that my colleagues might be overreacting just a tad. It was the power of celebrity, it had to be. Just because I’d shared a bottle or three of Cristal with Sachiko, I was evidently famous by proxy.

“Of course that’s who I am. Look, could you do me a huge favour and run out and get me a mocha?”

“I can’t. The phones have been ringing all morning. All the papers are anxious to talk to you.”

This was all I needed. The day I had a stonking hangover, was the day the press suddenly decreed incontinence pants a hot topic. “I’m really not in the mood. Just tell them I’m out.”

“What? Out as in out? You’re absolutely sure?”

What on earth was she blathering on about? “Well of course I am. You’re either in or you’re out, and I am absolutely, one hundred per cent out.”

“Gotcha,” said Nicki, plopping the newspaper on my desk, before making a hasty exit.

Next, I locked the door behind her, went over to my armchair, and promptly fell asleep.

When I awoke, it was nearly two, my headache had faded to a dull buzz and I felt remarkably refreshed. As I looked down, I was shocked to see that my suit was badly creased, but short of going out and buying a new one, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it. I smoothed it out as best I could, got up and walked back to my desk, where the Star still lay open on my desk.

As I was about to flip it closed, I hesitated. That was funny, I thought, peering at the woman kissing Sachiko. Her nose looked awfully familiar. And hadn’t I seen that fawn coloured Jil Sander suit somewhere before? Ditto her high heeled Manolos with the pointy toes?

Recognition ripped through me. The suit and shoes: mine. The nose: also mine. The mouth pressed against Sachiko’s: mine. A fleeting memory of her tongue in my mouth caused me to sink down in my chair and put my head in my hands. Oh yes, that. My brain must have blanked the kiss out, because it had been too bizarre to process.

It would have all been forgotten, if some pesky photographer hadn’t been on the scene. Nevertheless, I told myself, it had just been a kiss. I saw that I was indeed named, as Sachiko’s new friend, PR girl, Scarlett Staines, in the brief blurb beneath the picture. So that’s what had got my colleagues in a lather.

But maybe, just maybe, my colleagues were the least of my problems. I grabbed the paper and rushed next door to Nicki’s office, where she was eating a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Gosh, they looked yummy. And wow, was I was starving.

“Nicki, earlier on, when you said the press were keen to talk to me, did you mean they wanted to talk about this,” I put the paper down in front of her, “or about Flowerette?”

Nicki went pale. She had obviously choked on a crisp. Since she couldn’t talk, she jabbed her finger at the picture of Sachiko and me.

I went round behind her and started thumping her on the back.

“Oh, right. This is so silly, isn’t it? The worst part of it is that you were right, I was hungover. Would you believe I didn’t even realize this was me until just now?” I gave a short, hysterical laugh as I continued to thump her back.

“You can stop that now. I think I’m all right.”

“Okay then.” I headed towards the door, desperate to fill my grumbling stomach. If I stayed here a moment longer, I’d rip her crisp bag right out of her hands.

Hovering in the doorway, I said, “I’m going to go out and get some lunch now, but look, about this Sachiko business. I know I don’t need to tell you that it was just a drunken kiss and didn’t mean a thing, right?”

“Scarlett. I need to tell you something.”

“Well, get on with it.”

Nicki stared at her desk. “This morning, when you said you were out, I thought you meant you were out of the closet.”

I started to giggle. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Nicki threw down her bag of crisps. “You did. You said it was no big deal that Sachiko had a new girlfriend. How was I to know you couldn’t recognize your own face? I’ve been telling every journo who’s rung up that you and Sachiko are a couple.”

“You what?” I said, hurrying back into the room. I was about to have a go at her, but now, looking at the evidence, it was clear that I was the one who hadn’t been thinking straight.

“Look, this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just call them back and tell them there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. That I’m ramrod straight and Sachiko’s just a pal, okay?”

“I’ll try, but you know how it is. Most of them switch to voice-mail in the afternoons while they’re writing up their copy.”

“I have absolute faith in you,” I said, slipping out before this ridiculous conversation could go any further.

Once I’d returned from a hurried prawn sandwich lunch, I picked up my pen, and was about to commence a productive afternoon’s work, when someone started knocking at my door. On opening it, I found Stan from accounts grinning at me, a well thumbed newspaper in his hands.

“So, wow, you and Sachiko eh? How long have you two been going out?”

“We haven’t. We aren’t. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do,” I said, closing the door in his eager little face. Minutes later, there was another knock. Another curious face, with a slightly different, albeit idiotic query. And so it continued, for the rest of the afternoon.

Since the questions were all pretty similar, I finally stuck a notice on my door which said:

I am not going out with Sachiko

It was just a goodbye kiss

I am not gay

Then I locked my door, ignored the laughter outside and concentrated on phoning Gillian, a journalist I know at the Sunday Express, in order to drum up some publicity for a thirteen mile Fun Run sponsored by Flowerette that was taking place in October.

“Scarlett, so good to hear from you,” said Gillian. “I am so glad you called, darling. You don’t know how long I’ve been expecting this.”

“Expecting what?”

“That you’d finally come out, of course.” Gillian had left her husband for another woman last year and never stopped going on about how happy she was without men. “I’ve always thought you might be, and when I saw that pic of you and Sachiko, well, I was thrilled. I hear on the grapevine you’ve left Alistair? Is that right?”

“Yes, we’re separated.”

Gillian rattled on, “Well, that’s marvellous. Of course you remember when I first discovered I was gay, how my husband wouldn’t believe me. But when I moved in with Isabelle, the penny dropped all right. How is Alistair taking it by the way?”

“Look Gillian, if you must know, I’m not seeing Sachiko. And I’m not the remotest bit gay.”

“Oh darling,” said Gillian. “Denial is a river in Egypt. You can’t keep these desires locked up inside, they’re liable to burst free, like waves crashing over a sea wall, flooding you with—“

“Okay, okay, enough with the water metaphors. I’m not gay, cross my heart and hope to die. Now listen, I’m calling to see whether you could do a feature on this Fun Run I’m organizing in aid of breast cancer. I just faxed you the info. I’ve got a bunch of celebrities involved.” That was a bit of a lie, I only had two so far. But lies were what greased the PR wheel. If you could pretend to a paper you had celebrities on board for an event, they might promise to cover it, and then, hey presto, you used the lure of press coverage to reel in some prize celebrity fish.

“I might be able to do something. Depends who the celebs are, of course.”

“Well, Janey Powell from Eastenders has confirmed.” I couldn’t bear to tell her that the other celeb was an aging rock star who practically had to use a zimmerframe when he performed on stage.

As it happens, I didn’t have to, because Gillian was off on her pet topic again. “Look, you can talk to me about this, you know. I won’t blab a word. Have you had other female lovers, or was Sachiko your first? I suppose I’ve always known, deep down, that I was attracted to women, but kept hoping the feelings would go away. Was that how it was for you?”

What should I do? Issue another denial? No, it was pointless. Best to wind it up before I lost my rag. “Look Gillian, I’d really love to chat, but I’m going to have to dash. Do think about what kind of piece you’re going to do on the Fun Run, “I said sweetly, before putting down the phone.

What a disaster. Gillian clearly wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the Fun Run. The only thing she’d wanted to talk about, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about, was my ‘affair’ with Sachiko. Why had I kissed Sachiko? Why, why, why?

Desperate for caffeine, I rushed into the kitchen, anxious to make a very quick cup before anyone came in and started showering me with questions. In the process, I knocked the jar of coffee granules to the floor, and was just sweeping up the mess when Jimbo, a married guy who‘d been having an affair with Nicki for months, came in and smiled down at me.

I was so relieved that he hadn’t asked me about Sachiko that I said, “Tell me, why is no one the remotest bit surprised that the papers are making out I’m gay? Which I’m not, by the way.”

He shrugged. “I expect there are still a lot of people who actually believe what they read in the papers.”

“But that’s crazy. We’re PR people. We make up stories, day after day,” I said, getting up off the floor, grabbing my coffee and rushing out.

Back at my desk, I couldn’t concentrate. I took a call from Sachiko, in which she told me that Natasha had seen the photo and had gone off the deep end.

“What the heck happened? Did you come on to me?”

“I don’t really remember exactly,” I said, although I was pretty sure she’d instigated the kiss. “I think we were both a bit pissed.”

“What am I going to do?” she whined.

“Be happy. You wanted her back. Looks like she still has feelings for you.”

Once I’d got rid of Sachiko I took a few deep breaths at my desk. The day had been unnerving, perplexing, confusing and downright weird. Right now I needed escapism, I needed to feel wanted, but most of all I needed to forget.

So I called Gavin.

“Hi there, it’s Scarlett. I take it you’ve seen the photo?”

“Who hasn’t?” he said, chuckling. “I take it you’re not too pleased.”

“Pleased everyone thinks I’m gay?”

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m gay, and I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of.”

I giggled despite myself. “Oh shut up. The difference is, you got yourself into that mess and I didn’t.”

“Fair enough. You sound like you need to unwind. Shall we say my place, seven thirty?”

“Sure,” I said, biting my lip, relieved that he hadn’t made me beg.

*************************

After he buzzed me up, I found him waiting for me, standing in the doorway, wearing just a pair of beaten up combats. He was watching me take the last flight of stairs two at a time.

“In a hurry are we?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

I flushed, as I realized he’d caught me out in my act of raw desperation. “Yeah, well, I’ve had one heck of a day.”

“Come here.”

I went up to him and he pulled me into his embrace. I pressed my face into his naked chest, breathing in his musky scent, wanting him. His mouth pressed down on my forehead, finding its way down the bridge of my nose, and finally melding with mine in a rather steamy kiss.

“So, is Sachiko as good a kisser as me?” he said, once he’d pulled away.

A dart of anger rose up inside me. “Hmm, I wonder if you’d be quite so interested if I’d been snapped kissing another man.”

“You’re right of course, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not going to answer it, because you’re a hypocrite.”

“I don’t care if I am,” he said, stroking my breast through my shirt. “The thought of the two of you together is just so sexy.”

I ran the backs of my nails along his chest, slowly, enjoying the sense that he was evidently quite excited by the whole thing. I wanted to pretend I was cool, in control, but while he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the bedroom, while he pulled off my trousers and fucked me beneath the flashing lights of the PEEPSHOW sign, I realized I wasn’t in control at all.

Guilty, Moi?

2007-12-19T16:08:00.000-08:00

Just two days without Gavin had left me like a drug addict craving a fix. He hadn’t phoned since our night together, but since he hadn’t promised he would, I couldn’t exactly chastise him for breaking his promise. All he’d left me with was the vague suggestion that maybe we’d catch up with each other tonight, after the show taped. Since it wasn’t much to hold on to, I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high.

Since that night, the days had passed in a haze of lovely long sexual fantasies about Gavin. The only time I’d been pulled back down to earth was when I’d made lots of lovely long phone calls to Connor, to assuage the sense of guilt that had started to plague me.

This morning, as usual, I had The Curly Mackaw Show on while I drove to work.

“So Curly, I hear Sachiko Fiorelli’s in town,” said Billy Bonzo, Curly’s side kick. “You’ve been telling me for years you reckon you could turn her straight. Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”

“Easy peasy,” bragged Curly. “I’m going to bet you five hundred quid, right now, that I can land a date with Sachiko. Are you on?”

“I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Put your money where your mouth is.”

“All right. I don’t mind taking five hundred smackers off you. I know you’ve got this thing about her, but I can’t see it myself. For one thing, her tits are too small.”

“You know me, Billy, I’m not fussy. Big, small, silicone or saline. I love ‘em all. ” I chuckled to myself. Curly really was a Grade A asshole.

“All right Curly, steady on. We’ve got to go to a break now, but when we get back we’ll be meeting Fiona French, the new starlet who’s currently setting the adult film world alight.”

“Ooh,” groaned Curly. “I can hardly wait.”

The familiar tune of the Villorex jingle pinged into life: “To zap haemorrhoids fast, just say ‘Villorex please.’ In a flash sitting down will be comfort and ease.”

Every time I heard that jingle, Connor popped into my head. I really should call him, I thought. Anxious to hear whether his Dad had reappeared from his drunken binge yet, I reached for my phone.

“Hi Connor,” I said. “How are you?”

“About the same as I was when you called me yesterday afternoon.”

Okay, so maybe I was overdoing it just a tad, phoning him three times a day. If I didn’t ease off a bit, he’d start thinking I was psycho.

“Is your Dad back yet?”

“Oh yeah, crawled home with his tail between his legs early this morning, looking like a tom cat that had been in a fight. I had a right go at him, and he started crying. Said Mum having the accident had been too much for him to cope with. He’s just now gone off to the hospital to see her.”

“And how are the Evil Twins? Behaving themselves?”

“Hardly. Sean was caught shoplifting at Ann Summers the other day. You know, the sex shop.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. Burst into tears when they nabbed him. Said he was short on cash and had wanted to get a present for his sick Mum. He might have got away with it too, only the pants were crotch-less and the bra wouldn’t have covered two cherries.”

I chuckled. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but you’ve got to admit, that is funny.”

“I know. What an idiot, eh?”

“What about you? Have you had a chance to relax at all?”

“Well, I did manage to fit in a drink with some old pals last night. They’re a great bunch of lads and I know I’ll really miss them when I have to come back to London. Not as much as I’ll miss the Guinness though, which is way superior than the stuff they serve in England.”

“I think you might have mentioned that before.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, only about four hundred times,” I said, and he gave a hearty laugh.

This was the weirdest relationship, for want of a better word, I’d ever had. We’d gone straight from nothing to the sort of easy intimacy that takes years to develop. That counted for something, didn’t it? I kept telling myself that this thing with Gavin, it was crazy, it was nonsense, that it was nothing compared to the bond I had with Connor.

Unfortunately my subconscious didn’t give a fig about the altogether more wholesome Connor. Later that morning, as I sat in a meeting with a couple of Flowerette’s marketing people, tantalizing bits of Gavin’s body kept flashing behind my eyes like a slide show. Their presentation about projected sales figures and profit margins might as well have been held in Norwegian for all the impact it made. As the meeting concluded I looked down at my notepad to see what l’d written, but all it contained was a big G surrounded by dozens of tiny hearts. I told myself to get a grip, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything for the rest of the day, until Tanya called, which was something of a surprise, since she hadn’t said two words to me since our spat on Saturday night.

“Hi,” she said, breezily. “I just remembered, isn’t that taping of Genderblast

tonight?”

“Is it?” I said, pretending I’d forgotten. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Look, I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a cow recently, but I just had to know whether you’d managed to get Sachiko tickets?”

“Well, I did phone Gavin in the end. I also asked for a ticket for myself, since I’ve sod all else to do tonight, and mine’s arrived,” (no need to mention he’d delivered it personally before ravishing me on the sofa), ”so my guess is that hers probably have too.”

“And during this phone conversation, I suppose he asked if you were interested in coming round to his for some rumpy pumpy on his polyester sheets, to which you replied that it was quite impossible, because you couldn’t climax on anything less than six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton?” She started to laugh hysterically.

I hesitated. Part of me was absolutely dying to tell her everything. About my night with Gavin. About how I hadn’t even noticed how damn uncomfortable her sofa was because the sex had been so amazing. But I couldn’t. Talking about it would mean I couldn’t pretend to myself, as I had been doing up until now, that he’d just been a Robolover and that all those screaming orgasms had just been, if not a mistake, then of no real consequence. No, until I had worked out what, if anything, I did feel for him, apart from a throbbing ache between my legs, I wasn’t going to blab.

“We didn’t talk at all, I just left a message on his voice-mail.” I knew exactly what she was up to. Any moment now she’d ask me to get her a ticket. “Now look, sorry to be rude, but I’m really going to have to get back to work.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could wangle me a ticket for tonight. I’d be awfully grateful. I don’t know how you put up with me, really I don’t. With my moods and my slobby ways. If you get me a ticket, I promise to scrub the shower every day, and I’ll even do the washing up for a week. Please?”

I enjoyed feeling her squirm. She was obviously desperate.

“Look, of course I can get you a ticket.”

“Ooh, goody. Thanks so much for this Scarlett.”

“But I’m not going to. It’s for your own good. This Sachiko obsession has got way out of hand. If you turn up in the audience, she’ll just think you’re stalking her.”

“No she won’t.”

“Goodbye Tanya.”

As I walked across Soho after work, my thoughts veered towards Gavin. The weather had hotted up again, and the streets smelt of rotting vegetation. I began to feel light-headed, partly from the smell, but partly too, because of the mix of anticipation and anxiety churning about in my stomach.

Sitting in the studio audience waiting for the seats to fill up, I felt antsy. I told myself to stay put, to wait until after the taping, but suddenly I knew I had to see him.

I was just about to go backstage, when Sachiko and Chad sat down beside me. And then pretty soon there was no chance to slip away because Helenka had walked onto the studio floor in a tight white pantsuit, and had started to interview the famous transsexual lawyer, Carla Kraus.

Sachiko was utterly transfixed, her eyes wide. She was equally mesmerized by a flame haired lesbian actress who had a lisp, whose name I forget, and a gay porn star called Dorian Dong, who’s tale of rising to the porn firmament from a trailer trash childhood seemed a little too melodramatic to be believed. By now, all I was thinking about was Gavin and how soon we could have sex.

When the show was done, Sachiko jumped up, pulled her tiny orange dress down over her thighs and said, “Look, can you do me a favour? Do you think we could go backstage and you could introduce me to Helenka?”

“Sure, why not?” I said, smiling to myself. This would give me the perfect excuse to seek out Gavin, I thought, leading Chad and Sachiko round to the back of the studio floor. There was a badly shaven guy guarding the door, who shrugged when I said I was a friend of Helenka’s.

“Look love, I’ve let through her quota of girlies for today. You’ll both have to come back tomorrow. And you, mate, have got no chance,” he said, pointing at Chad, who looked relieved. “Strictly no one with balls. Them’s my orders.”

“Hey Sachiko, maybe we should split,” Chad ventured.

“Look honey,” Sachiko said softly, stepping up to the guard, and placing her hands on his shoulders. “We really need to go see Helenka, okay?”

He looked up at her, his expression a mixture of lust and fear. “’Ere, aren’t you that Japanese model bird?”

“I am. And if you don’t let us through this instant, I’ll see that you’re fired.”

Which did the trick. He ushered us in. Soon we were walking down the crowded corridor. I was frantically looking round for Gavin’s blond crop, without success.

“This is such a bummer,” said Sachiko. “Wait. Maybe you could call her, tell her we’ll meet her after the show next week? See if you can organize it.”

“Sure,” I said, scanning the corridor for Gavin as we headed towards the exit. Not catching sight of him made me feel utterly depressed. Once we got outside, I told them I was going to head off.

“Hey, don’t go just yet,” said Chad, as he pulled open the door of the glossy black car that had been waiting for them. ”Is there any chance you might be able to hook me up with Malc tonight? I really liked the look of him, from what I saw on the show.”

So, Chad fancied old horse face. It just went to prove there really was someone for everyone. “Let me think. He usually goes to this club called Fred’s on Wednesdays. You could try him there.”

“Great. I really fancy a club,” said Sachiko. “You’ll come along too, won’t you?”

“Actually, no, I’m really bushed.” I gave a big fake yawn. “But you two have fun.”

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” Sachiko said, playfully pushing me into the car. As she pulled the door closed, I realized I was trapped. Trapped between a supermodel and her PA, whose eyes were all lit up expectantly at the prospect of seeing Malc, like a kid who’d been told Father Christmas would be popping in on his way back to the North Pole. The sad bastard.

Fred’s is in South Kensington, an infamous, low-key gay venue where lots of media types hang out. Although the queue to get in was a mile long, Sachiko sashayed her way to the front, and after a brief chat with the bouncer, was waved through.

Every eye in the house swivelled in her direction as she made her entrance. The walls were mirrored, and I watched as dozens of Sachiko’s did their haughty catwalk strut across the dance floor towards the tables at the back of the club. Shaking back her bob, she lowered herself onto a chair, propped her face up on her elbows, and gave her public a tiny smile of acknowledgment.

“I wish someone would look at me the way those guys look at you,” said Chad huffily, as we sat down beside Sachiko.

“If you like, I can hire you a male escort,” said Sachiko, grinning.

“I don’t need an escort. The guy I want is right here. Somewhere.”

“While you’re waiting for lover boy to show up, go get me some Cristal,” said Sachiko, and Chad hurried off to do her bidding. Cristal champagne? I’d thought these LA types only drank wheatgrass. Maybe the night wouldn’t turn out to be a total disaster after all.

Glancing around, it was clear that there was a definite lack of breasts.

“Sorry there aren’t any girls here tonight.”

“That’s okay, I don’t actually pick up women at clubs.”

“So where do you pick them up?”

“You know, if two people are meant to be together, they just find each other. They’re drawn together like powerful cosmic magnets. That’s what usually happens to me. You know what I mean?”

“Actually, I do. The first time I first met Alistair at a party, it was pretty magnetic. We were both dating other people at the time, but as soon as we grazed fingers while reaching into a bowl of peanuts, the drone of the party faded. As we gazed into each other’s eyes, I knew I’d found my soul mate. A few months later we were married.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were married. I actually thought you were …” She stopped in mid-sentence and shook her head.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. So, are you happily married?”

“Not exactly.” I ended up telling her everything. About the trial separation, about leaving Ivy behind to move in with Tanya, and about how I didn’t know how I was going to resolve this great big mess I’d created.

“Sounds like a real downer. Still, you’re lucky to have a daughter. I’d love to have a kid some day with Natasha. Not that I ever will. She never wanted us to be out as a couple. Wanted to keep it a big secret. Said it would damage her career if her fans knew she was gay. You know how it is.”

Well, no, actually, I didn’t have a clue.

“Oh absolutely,” I said, not knowing what else to say. By now I was beginning to feel genuinely tired. Chad too was beginning to wilt, because his dream man appeared to have given Fred’s a miss tonight. Minutes later, however, I bumped into old horse face himself outside the Ladies.

“My God, how the heck did you become friends with Sachiko Fiorellli?” he gushed.

“Nice to see you too Malc.”

“No really, how did you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Actually, I know you’re massive ego’s probably going to explode, but her PA Chad has the hots for you. He’s with her now. Why not come meet him?”

“Some Californian air head. No thanks.”

After much persuasion, I brought him over to Sachiko’s table.

As soon as Malc laid his eyes on Chad, and took in his well-muscled arms and tight white t-shirt, he beamed. Evidently, the fact that he might be an air head was no longer an issue.

Once Malc had sat down and poured himself a glass, Chad leaned in towards him and said, “Hey, did anyone ever tell you have a really cute fanny?”

“What?” Malc spluttered into his drink.

“I think he means bum,” I said.

“Yeah, I mean bum.”

“Well, thanks,” said Malc, and he and Chad exchanged soulful glances.

The atmosphere was getting a little too throbbing with sexual tension for me, so I suggested to Sachiko that we hit the dance floor. She really went for it, closing her eyes and shimmying her shoulders to a James Brown number, totally unaware that every guy in the house was staring at her. That was the awesome power she had. The power to turn the most committed gay man straight, at least for one night.

Once we’d got back to our table, where Malc and Chad were whispering to each other, I took a good look at Sachiko, and wondered if she was actually human. Her skin didn’t seem to have any pores and she wasn’t sweating at all, which, after all that dancing, was pretty amazing. I wiped my own sweaty forehead with the back of my hand and took a deep swig of Cristal. Feeling energized, I decided I’d soften her up for a few more minutes, and then tentatively slip in the idea of her being the face of Fondantdew.

“So how’ve you been dealing with your break up with Natasha? Are you over her?”

“I’m getting there,” she said, forcing a smile. “There’s a part of me that still hates her, of course. Hates her for denying that I existed in public, for so long. I mean, I tried. I really tried. But there’s only so long you can tolerate a situation where someone loves you in private and not in public. It’s just crazy.” I nodded sympathetically. This probably wasn’t the best time to mention that Natasha had actually finished with her, not the other way around. “I’m over her, of course I am, only, I just wish things had been different between us. The real trouble with the relationship was …”

Well, without going into too much boring detail, I pretty much found out everything you’d ever want to know about Natasha Jones, like that she’s allergic to dairy, hates wearing socks and is scared of lifts. Oh yeah, and that she’s the most wonderful woman on the planet, as well as the world’s biggest bitch. I chipped in with the occasional sympathetic comment, but it was pretty much the Sachiko show.

“Oh Scarlett,” Sachiko said, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Where did I go wrong? I mean, you tell me. I couldn’t go on living a lie, could I?”

“Of course you couldn’t,” I said, helping her to her feet. “Maybe we ought to get you home. Where are you staying? The Park Lane Sheraton, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “When I gave that interview to People magazine without consulting her first, I thought she’d be delighted, but boy was I wrong. You should have seen her, she was so mad and, hey, where the heck is Chad?”

I scanned the dance floor, which was now almost empty. Chad, as well as Malc, were nowhere to be seen.

“They must have hooked up,” I said, as I escorted her to the exit. Her car was waiting for her outside, and I eased her into her seat.

As she rolled down the car window, I bent down so I was face to face with her. I was wearing high heels and was finding it hard to balance, and must have tumbled forward, because suddenly my face was squished against hers. I pulled away an inch, placing my palms against the car, trying to regain my balance.

I was staring at Sachiko, at her gorgeous eyes, watching them roll back in her head, when she kissed me.

She reached out of the window and, wrapping her hand around the back of my head, pressed my lips hard against hers. I wanted to ask her what the heck she thought she was doing, when she probed her Cristal-tasting tongue into my mouth. At that point, I surrendered. I opened my mouth a little more and leaned into her, and mmm, the way she was teasing my tongue with hers was, well, as a matter of fact, it was hot. I mean, God, who wouldn’t want to kiss Sachiko? She’s just so … perfect.

And then there was the click of a camera, the flash of lights. Flash, flash, flash. I jerked away. Glancing over my right shoulder, I saw a figure hurrying off down the street. As I straightened up, I watched Sachiko give a final wave, before sinking back in her seat.

As I clambered into a cab and headed home, I kept telling myself it was no big deal to kiss a girl. But this was a big deal. This wasn’t just any girl. This was Sachiko Fiorelli, and someone had taken pictures.

By the time I got back to the apartment, I was bursting to tell Tanya all about it, so it was quite disheartening to find her zonked out on the sofa, with the TV still running. As I switched it off, she stirred and said sleepily, “Oh hello. Is it morning?”

I glanced at my watch. “No, wow, only two o’clock. I thought it was later. I am so out of it.” Plonking myself beside her I said, “You won’t believe what just happened to me.”

She sat up and pulled her pink dressing gown around her. “Won’t I? Actually, I think it’s pretty obvious.”

“Is it?”

“Course it is. Your lipstick’s all smudged. And its pretty damn obvious who you’ve been kissing. It’s Gavin, isn’t it?”

“Gavin? Why on earth would I—“

“Oh, give me a break. You can stop pretending. I do know the effect he has on you. What’s happened to you Scarlett? It seems like these days, one slice of pizza, and you’re anybody’s.”

“What? I didn’t even talk to Gavin tonight, and what does pizza have to do with anything?”

“You can stop fibbing. I know.”

“Know what?”

“The other night, I could smell pepperoni in the air, so I followed my nose and ended up in the living room. I was going to ask if I could have a slice, but you two looked kind of busy, so I helped myself.”

I felt sick. “Oh God Tanya, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty hurt you didn’t confide in me.“

“There’s really nothing to tell. It just sort of happened. Call it a temporary loss of sanity.” That wasn’t really the truth, but the way I felt about Gavin was confusing, and I was very tired and drunk and really didn’t feel like going there. “In any case, I’ve told you, me and Connor are practically dating. I know its only phone calls for now, but it kind of feels like we’re getting serious.”

She gave a sharp blast of laughter. “Since you two haven’t even kissed yet, you can hardly call it dating! Whereas Gavin and you have exchanged more than just saliva. I’d say if you’re dating anyone, it’s Gavin.”

“So you reckon you can only be going out with someone if you’ve kissed them?”

“Well yes, I mean, some kissing has to take place before one can officially declare oneself an item.”

“So,” I said, trying to act cool. “If Sachiko kissed me this evening, does that mean we’re an item?”

Tanya’s eyes flew open. “You’re having me on!”

“I’m not. We went to Fred’s, and at the end of the night she gave me a goodbye kiss, which turned into something a bit more.”

Tanya leaned over, grabbed my face and plonked a kiss on my cheek. “You know what this means don’t you? It means Sachiko likes you. No, better than that, she lurrves you.”

“Steady on. I don’t think—”

“And that you’ll be able ask her about Fondantdew any day now.”

“You have such a one track mind,” I said, yawning and heading for the door.

“I guess you’ll be dreaming about Sachiko tonight,” Tanya called after me.

As it happens, I didn’t dream of anyone that night, I was in such a deep stupor.

I groaned when my alarm woke me at seven. My mouth tasted like a rat had died in there, and my head was filled with a searing, high pitched pain.

Learning How Not To Fake It

2007-12-16T15:38:00.000-08:00

When I awoke, the vivid images of the dream danced behind my eyes. I felt perturbed, certainly, but also angry. What on earth did Gavin think he was doing, popping into my dreams like that? I hadn’t exactly invited him in. Despite myself, I couldn’t help wondering if the real Gavin would be as good in bed as Robolover. But before I could give the matter too much thought, my bedside phone started to ring. I was relieved to find it was Connor.

As I lost myself in Connor’s disastrous life, the memory of the dream began to dissolve.

He told me he’d spent yesterday evening at the hospital, sitting at his Mum’s bedside, phoning around his Dad’s mates to ask if they knew where he was. There’d been some sightings of him in various boozers around town, but when he’d phoned the pubs in question, he was always told the same thing: that his Dad had been in, but had pushed off some time ago.

Then, to top it all, an emotionally drained Connor had gone back to his parents’ house at midnight to get some sleep, only to find the place bursting with teenagers and throbbing with drum 'n bass. The Evil Twins had seized the opportunity for a party, and even though it had only been going for a couple of hours, and Connor threw everyone out, the damage was already been done. There were fag burns in the carpet and smashed bottles of beer all over the place.

Imagining what the place must look like, must smell like, made my heart go out to him.

“Oh God Connor, I wish I could just come over with a bucket of soapy water and fix the place up.”

“Don’t worry. The lads have tidied up most of it up already. Anyway, how was The Attic?”

I told him all about the horrid food and inviting Tanya and meeting Sachiko, and then, when I couldn’t keep my big news inside any longer, I just burst out with it.

“Look, I really need to tell you something. Alistair and I had a talk, and it turns out he wants a trial separation.”

“Oh? What did you say?”

“Well, I told him it was a great idea. In fact, it’s already happened, would you believe? I’ve moved in with Tanya.”

“Well, I can’t say that isn’t a relief. At least I won’t have to worry about creeping around behind your husband’s back if we start dating.”

“Don’t you mean when we start dating?”

“Yes,” he said softly. And suddenly I really missed him and wished he was here.

Later at brunch at a café in Camden Town with Mia and Imogen, Mia was all excited.

“Oh Scarlett, I am so happy. We’ve had tons of calls since the show. You are such a doll for pulling this off.”

“Is Malc over the moon too?”

“Well, you know Malc, he grumbles. He’s been so bogged down with work, what with the phone ringing off the hook, that it’s really getting to him. He’s been a bit snappy with some of the new clients.”

“You know Mia, you really should fire him. He’s just no good with people.”

“Fire Malc! No way. I’ve known him since we were at Kindergarten. If you only took the time to get to know him, you’d see that deep down he’s a lovely person.”

“That must be very deep down.”

“You’ve got to admit, he can be a bit caustic,” said Imogen.

“I’m not sacking Malc, okay?” said Mia.

They scoffed their fried breakfasts while I sipped my tea. The news that Alistair and I had decided to give each other a bit of space, apparently wasn’t any big deal to Mia who’s only reaction was, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re taking some time for yourself, time to figure out who you really are.”

“Actually, that’s exactly not what I’m going to be doing. If you must know, I had this night of red hot sex all planned out.” Mia looked a little shocked. “But it’s just my luck that as soon as I’m free, the guy I fancy has raced off to Ireland.”

“What’s Gavin doing in Ireland?” said Mia.

God this was annoying. Why did everyone keep going on about Gavin? “Not Gavin, I’m talking about this Irish guy I work with, Connor. I must have mentioned him?”

“I don’t think so,” said Imogen.

“Well, maybe I didn’t. He was kind of a secret between Tanya and me for, well, for months. Then suddenly he asks me out on a date, and while I’m waiting for him in the restaurant, he calls from Heathrow and tells me he won’t be able to make it because his Mum’s had an accident and is in a coma. And it’s not that I’m not sympathetic and all that, but it could take her weeks to come out of it. At this rate, it looks like we’re never even going to have a first date, let alone get to first base.”

“You’ll get to first base,” said Imogen. “You’re just going to have to be patient for a while.”

When I got home, I stood in the hallway, feeling sorry for myself. God, I missed Connor. Or something. Maybe I just didn’t know how to be alone.

Tanya came out of her bedroom, looking pale and bedraggled.

I said, ”Look, can we talk?” I don’t think I’d ever needed to talk to anyone so badly. Mia and Imogen were all very well, but for God’s sake, Tanya was my best friend, and I hated that we’d fallen out. And quite frankly, even though I’m not a huggy person, right then I really needed a hug. But she just walked right past me and slammed the door of the bathroom, leaving me feeling sorrier for myself than ever.

Needing to keep myself busy, I ran into the living room and started vacuuming the carpet and polishing her barbed wire sideboard, as I tried to get things into perspective. I knew Tanya was being a prat, sulking about the fact I wasn’t willing to get her tickets. But maybe I was equally to blame. I would call Helenka, that would be best, I told myself. But then I remembered her prediction: A girl is about to walk out of your life. She wasn’t a fake, as Gavin had said. Her prediction had come true. So I had walked away from the girl, but it all added up to the same thing, didn’t it? If I called her, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t start foretelling my future again. In my fragile state, I wasn’t quite up to dealing with any more ominous predictions.

So, if not Helenka, that only left Gavin. So, I’d had a kinky dream about him. So what? Sachiko needed tickets and Gavin was the best person to supply them. Surely I could manage a simple transaction without letting him rub me up the wrong way? Of course I could.

Since it was all I had, I tried his office number, and reached his voice-mail. While I rambled on about how I needed him to ring Sachiko’s people and sort out tickets for her, I chewed over whether I should ask for a ticket for Tanya too, before swiftly vetoing the idea. But hang on, what if I talked to Sachiko after the show, got a feel for how Tanya might best make her pitch? Yes, that would definitely be a smart move. So, after requesting that he send a ticket to Tanya’s apartment, I gave out her address and phone number, saying I was staying there temporarily and that he should get in touch if there were any problems.

Then, utterly exhausted, I went to my room and took a cat nap on the bed. The phone kept ringing in my dreams, and I knew I should answer it, but right now sleep was more important.

When I eventually woke, the room was shrouded in a rosy dusk, and some asshole was ringing the doorbell. I staggered sleepily to the door, ready to strangle whoever it was.

*********************

“All right,” I said, opening the door and rubbing my eyes. “You can stop ringing the bloody bell now.”

There was a man standing there, carrying a pizza. He was wearing baggy combats and a t-shirt, and he looked kind of serious. I knew him. Of course I did, I was just half asleep and couldn’t place him. Yes I could. It was Gavin. And he was staring at me.

And out of nowhere this odd sentence came to me: You are the puzzle piece that fits exactly into the empty space inside of me.

He stared at me. And I stared at him. And that was it. We both knew what was going to happen next.

“Sorry to just barge round like this, but you weren’t answering the phone, so I thought I’d just walk over and bring you your ticket.”

He was saying the words, but the words meant nothing. They were just filling time before we could tear eachother’s clothes off. We both knew it.

The waiting would be fun. It would also be unbearable.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, taking the ticket from his outstretched hand. “You should have posted it and saved yourself the bother.”

“No bother. It’s just a short walk from Muswell Hill.”

“Thanks,” I said again, leaning against the doorframe and running my hands over my bare arms.

“So what’s the deal?”

“About what?”

“About how you know Sachiko and why exactly you’re staying at Tanya’s. Do you want to tell me all about it over pizza?” he said, slipping past me.

Once we’d sat down on the sofa, he ate two slices of pizza and I ate nothing. I tried to, but the crust tasted like ashes and proved impossible to swallow, so I spat the mouthful into a napkin.

He kept asking questions. I was bored of talking and I was certainly bored of questions, but he was insistent, so I told him about how I’d met Sachiko and explained that I was living at Tanya’s because I’d just separated from my husband.

I scurried off to get some beers, and while I drank greedily from my bottle, he asked if I was allowed to see other people, and something about the question shocked me and made me lose my grip on the cold slippery bottle I held in my palm. It would have crashed to the floor, if his hand hadn’t darted out and caught it.

“Well, yes,” I stuttered.

We were leaning in towards each other. We were so close that I could see each separate eye lash around his eyes, could feel his breath on my cheek, coming hard and fast. I was sure he was going to kiss me, but instead he just handed me the beer, leaned back and started telling me the story of his life.

It was your standard riches to rags tale. As a child the family had lived in a great big mansion in St John’s Wood, and his dad had run a property development business. Everything was dandy, until, when Gavin was fourteen, the business took a nose dive and his dad declared bankruptcy. The family was forced to move into a cramped apartment, and he was transferred from a private school to the local comprehensive, where the kids took the piss out of his plummy accent. Hurt by their taunts, he started imitating his classmate’s downmarket cockney tones, and was soon accepted as one of them.

“So, you’ve always been good at acting,” I said, thinking that we weren’t all that dissimilar. No one hearing my upper crust voice today, would guess that I’d been born in Peckham or that I’d gone to a run down comprehensive. Back then my accent had been perfectly ordinary. But as soon as I’d got to Cambridge, in order to fit in with the rich kids and their posh tones, I’d quickly evolved an accent that made them think I was one of them. Then, later, once I’d married upper-class Alistair, by accent had become snootier still.

“But isn’t it a bit of a drag,” I said, “putting on the gay bit at work all the time?”

“Yeah, it certainly can be a pain. Especially when I’m down the pub with my work mates, and I’m dying to go over to some fit looking bird and start chatting her up, but have to stop myself, because they all think I’m gay.”

“Yeah, it must be.” I started to laugh, and my laugh was high and tinkly. I sounded like a crazy person.

Gavin didn’t seem to have noticed my crazy laugh, because he was looking at me rather intently. “Still, it looks like I can chat up any girl I like tonight, because they aren’t here, now are they?”

“How do you know?” I said in a misguided stab at humour. “Maybe they’re hiding behind the sofa.”

He reached out and rested his hand on my jean-clad thigh. While maintaining eye contact, he slowly started to stroke it. It was lucky I wasn’t standing up, because my legs would have given way beneath me.

Once he started to kiss me, I felt myself lose control. My insides were like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. I was full of flames and smoke and tiny explosions.

Now his hands were roaming under my t-shirt and playing with my breasts. I was bra-less, and soon I was melting, slowly melting into a great pool of liquid jelly. I had no bones. I was just limp, helpless, crazed with desire. Meanwhile, he was pulling off my t-shirt.

Before I knew it, my clothes and underwear were off and Gavin was licking my inner thighs in tiny circles. It was heaven, but it was also disconcerting. I began to feel distanced, less and less connected to the sensations. I wanted to relax, really I did, but suddenly I was gripped by a desperate impatience and told him I wanted him inside me. Now.

He put on a condom and we started doing it, and suddenly I couldn’t feel anything. It was terribly disappointing. I was thinking of Alistair and what he’d think if he could see me, and oh God, this was a disaster. In the end I did what I always did when I got like this. I faked it.

Gavin rolled off me and lay back on the hard sofa. “Okay, what was that?”

“What?”

He shook his head. “That was a really badly faked orgasm.”

“But I did come, really,” I said, annoyed.

I sat up and crossed my hands in front of my breasts. I was a total amateur at this sleeping around lark. I was crazy to think I could even manage it. Getting up, I started to pick up my clothes.

He drew me gently back towards the sofa and pulled me across his chest. “Hey, listen, I’ve got an idea. I reckon that if you imagined you were this helium balloon, floating up to the sky, you might be able to unwind a tad.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, go on.”

Since he was being so sweet, I decided to try. I closed my eyes and began to visualize myself as air inside a pink balloon, drifting upwards into a piercing blue sky.

“I’m going to make you come,” he whispered into my ear as he kissed me all the way down my neck, dragging his stubbly chin across my sensitive skin. It was almost painful, but not quite.

“But I did come. Really, I’m fine,” I murmured.

I was a balloon, being blown about on a breeze. I was rising and rising. I opened my eyes and stared into his, a flash of green that snapped me out of my dream-like state.

“Hey, don’t look so scared. I’m not going to stick it in and start jack-hammering away until you fake it again. I do know a thing or too about how to tackle this, and if you don’t come, I’m going to take it personally.”

He got down on his knees in front of me and gently parted my thighs.

“You’re very arrogant, if you don’t mind me saying so. All right. Fine. So I have trouble orgasming, a lot of women do, and I …” I stopped in mid-sentence, because I could no longer talk. He was kissing his way up my inner thigh, and the balloon was drifting up, up, getting lost in the clouds.

He was wonderful at kissing, phenomenal at stroking my skin, and I just knew, instinctively, that he’d be a master at oral sex. And frankly, now that he was on his knees before me, I just wanted him to get on with it. But he seemed to be in no hurry at all.

The little circles he was making on my inner thighs with his tongue were driving me to the edge of madness. Every time he went a little higher, I would I hold my breath, would say to myself, yes, yes, he’s finally going for gold. And every time he’d dash my hopes, changing direction, and working his way back down, like his tongue was taking a leisurely stroll.

“You’re going the wrong way!” I wanted to shout, like some on edge driving instructor, but I didn’t of course, just lay back, digging my fingernails into the sofa while he kept this up for what felt like hours. And even when he finally did give me a little of what I fancied, the way he was licking my clit was like he was testing out a flavour of ice cream he wasn’t particularly fond of.

And finally, finally, when I was squirming around like a crazed thing, he took pity on me and started really paying my clit some good, focused attention, like it had suddenly transformed into a whopping great sundae, hot fudge and all. Just when I was teetering on the edge, he pulled away, all relaxed. Now what? It appeared that his tongue was stopping for a tea break and would get back to the job in its own sweet time.

“Jesus, Gavin,” I mumbled. “I can’t take much more than this.”

Through half closed eyes, I watched him stand up and pull on a condom.

This time I was ready for him.

But even once he was inside me, he wasn’t done with teasing me yet. Every time I was almost there, he would pull out and rub my clit with his finger, until the pressure was unbearable and splinters of pleasure started to shoot through me. The game was pretty much torture by now.

Finally the torturer relented, thrusting into me deeply until I was thrashing about and screaming, my orgasm as intense as the one I’d had in my dream.

“Now that,” Gavin said, while I was lying there, my mouth slack against his shoulder. “That was a real orgasm.”

“All right, you got me,” I said, smiling.

**********************************

That evening, sitting on Ivy’s bedroom floor, watching her dress and undress her Barbies, I remembered that morning. How he’d run his fingers down the length of my arm, while we’d joked about with the self-consciousness of two people who have slept together for the first time and are wondering if the other person will ever be persuaded to repeat the performance.

As his glance lingered on a photo of Ivy on my bedside table, his fingers stopped in their tracks.

“I can’t really see you as a mother,” he said, before swiftly adding, “although I’m sure you’re terrific.”

“Not really. I lack the self-sacrificing gene most mothers seem to be born with. I mean, for God’s sake, I only breastfed Ivy for two weeks! Sure it was painful, but the pain would have gone away once my nipples toughened up a bit, but I couldn’t be bothered. Sad, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure you did your best,” he said, smoothing my hair away from my face.

“If only that were true. I mean, how can dashing off to live at Tanya’s possibly be the best thing for Ivy?”

Now, as I picked up a Barbie and began to comb the knots out of her matted hair, I tried to ponder the question, but didn’t get very far. After my night with Gavin, my guilt reflex, in fact, my whole brain, had ceased to function.

Later, after I’d put Ivy to bed and was about to leave, I almost collided with Alistair, as he was coming in through the front door. We stood there looking at each other awkwardly, until I sliced into the silence with, “How are you?”

“Look,” he said rapidly, his eyes seeking out mine. “I think I might have made a dreadful mistake.”

“Oh?”

He raked his hand through his hair and took a step closer, bumping his briefcase against my leg. “About that row we had the other night. Look, I hadn’t slept properly in days and I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“About separating? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“What can I say? It was a stupid decision.”

“I’m afraid I don’t agree. This break is just what I need.”

“Don’t you see? We’re not going to solve our problems while we’re living under separate roofs. Once you’ve moved back in, I’ll come home early one evening this week, and we’ll sit down and talk, really talk.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I appreciated the gesture, but the chance of Alistair cutting back on his work hours to have a heart to heart didn’t strike me as entirely believable. “I’m going to stay at Tanya’s, until …” My voice quavered. I realized I couldn’t finish the sentence. Until what? That was the real question.

Seems like I’ve been faking it for too long. Have you ever faked it and do you think it’s worth it to pander to the guy’s ego?

A Date With Disaster

2007-12-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

I tossed about all night, humiliated by the knowledge that I’d been wrong about Constanza and Alistair. Yet, at the same time, I was excited about the trial separation, of course I was. Because at the end of it I would find out whether I could survive without Alistair, whether I wanted him or whether I wanted something else entirely. And yet the thought of the upheaval, the change, the strangeness of not sleeping beside him, was so overwhelming, it was as if my brain couldn’t process the enormity of what was happening.

Ivy, however, had less of a problem. When I told her over breakfast that Mummy would be living at Auntie Tanya’s for a while, she said, “That’s nice. Ooh, I forgot to put in my new sparkly hair clips. I’ll go up to my room and get them.”

As she raced off, Constanza, who was cooking pancakes, came over and scowled at me.

“The man and the wife, they should stay together for life,” she said, chewing agitatedly at her crucifix.

Okay, so I’d been wrong about Constanza sucking any part of Alistair’s anatomy, but she could drop the holier than thou act. Maybe in the village in Chile where she came from, people mated for life and popped out dozens of children and sang while they hand washed their clothes in streams. But this was London, and when high pressure marriages self-destructed, separation was the first point of call for dealing with the problem.

“That’s all very well in theory,” I said, trying not to react to her brooding stare. I was in a good mood for the first time in ages and was damned if I was going to let her guilt trip me out of it. “But all we do is fight. I’ll be round to see Ivy most days, so it shouldn’t be too disruptive.” Damn. She was still slobbering all over that damned crucifix.

“Look,” I said. “I know it’s really none of my business, but I can’t bear to watch you sucking on that crucifix a moment longer. It’s covered in germs. Come on, hand it over, and I’ll give it a good soaking in bleach.”

Constanza’s face went red.

“I am sorry I am upsetting you. I will not wear any more,” she said, unfastening the chain and throwing it in the trash, before dashing out.

Well, that wasn’t precisely what I’d meant, but it would be something of a relief not to see her carry on her repulsive habit. Even the fact that I’d hurt her feelings couldn’t make a dent in my buoyant mood.

And then, stomach spinning like a tumble dryer, I stepped out of my front door and took a deep gulp of that wonderful, life-altering morning.

The air felt balmy, full of possibility, and ripe with the scent of yellow roses, which were shedding their petals in our front garden. I felt like cart wheeling down the street and screaming out, “I’m free!” but contented myself instead with jogging all the way down to Upper Street.

Panting and feeling wildly overcome by emotion, I pushed open the door to The Cutting Edge, where my stylist Ben washed, dried and mussed my locks about with some hair wax, until it looked like I’d fallen asleep in a pool of lager. He charged me a hundred and ten quid for the privilege, but I was too cheerful to care. Then I went next door to the beauty salon and had my legs waxed. I was trying to be realistic about what tonight might bring. Even though Connor wasn’t likely to make a move, I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t pounce on him, and figured it was best to be prepared.

Oh God, I couldn’t get over how liberating it all was! Tonight I would be allowed to pounce! This date wasn’t going to be about cheating, it was going to be all about finding myself. And if I found myself in bed with Connor in the process, so much the better.

In a state of barely contained excitement, I spent the afternoon with Tanya, searching for the perfect dress for my date. It turned out to be a backless Miu Miu concoction in plum and silver, which, combined with a padded bra, Tanya declared, made me look positively statuesque.

She was surprised that Constanza and Alistair hadn’t been going at it after all, but didn’t bat an eyelid when I announced the trial separation. She said something along the lines of, I would have suggested it ages ago, but you wouldn’t have taken a blind bit of notice, so I didn’t. And when I asked if she minded me moving in, she jokingly replied that since she didn’t have any money spare to pay for a cleaner, me moving in would do just fine.

We went back to the house and I packed up some of my stuff and took it back to her apartment. As we unloaded my possessions, I kept having to remind myself that this was temporary. A window of opportunity to live a little, to work out my priorities. Ivy would have her mother back, in time. I just needed a break. And once I’d thoroughly vacuumed Tanya’s spare room and was in my dress, all nervous with excitement, she got a call from Jake the honest paparazzo. As she pulled on a long black wig and hastily twirled it up into a bun, it was clear she was headed on another Sachiko mission.

“Okay, that M&S spotting was a total waste of my time,” she said. “By the time I got there she’d gone. Jake was still there, though, and said he’d had a good chat with Sachiko. Apparently he cracked the ice by pretending he was doing market research on what her favourite flavour of yogurt was—it’s apricot by the way—and as they got chatting, she told him she often shopped at out the way places because that way she was less likely to be accosted by eager fans. I can’t figure out why she didn’t mace him though. Maybe he just has the magic touch, the bastard.” Tanya jabbed a chopstick through her messy bun. “Okay, now. Wish me luck. She’s just been sighted leaving the G bar in Piccadilly, and is heading towards Notting Hill. Jake says a bunch of celebs are gathered at the Tiger Lilly bar and he’s pretty sure she’s headed there.”

“Great!” I enthused. “The Tiger Lilly’s round the corner from The Attic isn’t it? We can share a cab.”

After I dropped her off, I attempted to stroll casually into the restaurant, but was stopped by two surly bouncers, who checked my name off a list, before escorting me down a hallway and into an ancient lift, which made a slow shuddery descent. As the doors opened, I walked out into a room packed full of ill looking people, their deathly pallor brought about by the greenish strip lighting.

The interior designer could scarcely have made the place less inviting, I thought, as I was shown to my table by a waiter with slicked back hair. My spirits sank further as he showed me to my table, a misshapen piece of wood that looked like the product of a remedial woodwork class.

As soon as I rested my elbows on its surface, a splinter embedded itself in my skin. While I was biting my lip and trying to suppress a yelp, the waiter asked if I’d care for a cocktail.

“Yes, oh my God that hurts, what would you recommend?”

“A Green Goddess?”

I nodded. It was now seven thirty-two, two minutes past the time we’d arranged to meet. My stomach felt queasy, like it was filled with cold congealed rice.

As I drank my cocktail, I told myself to get a grip. So he wasn’t here yet? So what? I would just relax. Chill out. I leaned back in my roughly hewn chair, cursing as my back incurred a nasty scratch. Wiping away the blood, I smarted under the looks of the other sensibly covered up diners. If you came here regularly like we do, was the unspoken message, you’d know that no one in their right mind comes here baring flesh.

Since I couldn’t rest my arms on the table or my back against the chair, for fear of incurring more scratches, I leaned forward, supporting my forearms on my thighs. It’s hard to look sophisticated when you’re hunched over like Quasimodo, but I think I managed it.

*****************************************

By seven fifty-five I was still hunched over, and acting calm and in control, like it didn’t bother me a jot that I’d been well and truly stood up.

After I caught a middle-aged guy throw me a pitying glance and whisper something to his companion, I kept my eyes strictly on my mobile, which lay on the table in front of me.

“Ring damn you, ring,” I muttered under my breath, until it eventually got the message and started to ring.

“Ah, madam,” said the waiter, rushing over. “We do not allow our patrons to use mobiles. If you would kindly switch it off.”

Turning my back on him, I grabbed the phone.

“Connor. Where on earth are you?” I said, rather more aggressively than I’d intended.

“I’m at Heathrow.”

Leaning back against the splintery chair and scraping my back I shrieked, “Shit!”

“Are you all right?”

“Not really. Would you please go away,” I hissed at the waiter.

“Do you mean that?” Connor said, sounding hurt.

“Sorry, not you. I was talking to someone else.”

“Madam, would you please switch off your phone,” said the waiter. I put a hand over my ear so I could concentrate on what Connor was saying.

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to leave you in the lurch. My Mum’s been in a car accident. Happened at lunchtime. Some maniac was speeding like crazy. She was on a pedestrian crossing and he smashed right into her.”

“Oh my God. Is she all right?”

“Yeah, well, as well as expected. She’s in a coma. I’m catching a flight to Dublin in a couple of minutes to be with her.”

“I totally understand.“

“I’m sorry not to have called you earlier, only I’ve been on the phone with one person after another, ever since it happened. Her doctors won’t give me a straight answer on how bad it really is. I’ve tried to press them, because I really need to know what exactly is wrong with her. I keep telling them to just give it to me straight, but all they’ll say is that it’s way too early to assess the damage. Tests, they need to run tests and …”

He was really rambling now and I didn’t know what to say. I felt totally helpless. I thought of saying something jokey like, By the way, I’m officially free now, so you won’t have to worry about Alistair coming after you with a cricket bat. But even I could see it really wasn’t the time. So instead I said, “Now listen to me, Connor. Take a deep breath.”

He sucked in some air, but it didn’t do much good, and he was off again immediately. “I wish I didn’t have to dash off, but the thing is, someone’s got to keep my Dad in line. He always was a bit of an ass, but since this happened, he’s gone off on a bender. And what with an empty house at their disposal, I don’t want to think about what my teenage brothers, Sean and Declan, a.k.a. the Evil Twins, will be getting themselves into. My sisters, Una and Bridget, live nearby, but they have kids of their own and can’t be expected to see that the Evil Twins don’t burn the house down while Mum’s in hospital.” There was a pause and he said something I didn’t catch, due to a flight being announced from the PA. Connor was making sniffling sounds. Was he crying? I couldn’t handle this. Tonight was meant to be my big night of freedom, and now I just wanted to go home and curl up with a cup of soup and bawl my eyes out.

His parting words were, “Have fun,” and as I placed the phone back on the table, I was thinking that he wouldn’t want me to just go home and drink soup. He’d want me to partake in the four hundred pounds worth of food and drink going begging. And that was exactly what I intended on doing.

The waiter was still standing beside me.

“I’m sorry, but that was an emergency.”

“If you use that phone again, madam, I’m afraid you will be asked to leave,” he said, flouncing off.

I glanced over to the next table, where a striking-looking woman, her toned body encased in a sky blue dress the size of a legwarmer, was telling her companion in a Californian drawl, “I think I’m going to complain about this salad, Chad. I know the Brits like their food tasting like boiled socks, but this is meant to be one of the best restaurants in London.”

“Leave it,” said her companion, a muscular guy sporting long dark sideburns.

“Well, okay. But if the next course isn’t any better, I’m going to say something.” She turned to me and gave me a big smile. “I don’t recommend the wild mushroom and quinoa salad. It tastes like garbage. And I’m sorry you scratched your back. These chairs really suck, don’t they?”

Since I wasn’t in the mood to be sociable, I quickly buried my face in my menu. Maybe Tanya would be able raise my spirits, I thought, reaching for my mobile. Holding up the menu to shield my phone from the waiter’s prying eyes, I quickly stabbed out her number. When I got through, she sounded severely pissed off. The elusive Sachiko had left Tiger Lilly shortly before she’d arrived, but I managed to cheer her up with the promise of free drinks, and she told me she’d see me in ten.

I told the waiter to give her name to the bouncers, but twenty minutes later I was still waiting, ducked behind my menu, while Blue Legwarmer gave the waiter a piece of her mind.

“All I’m saying, is that this tuna is raw, when I asked for it cooked.”

“I conveyed your wishes to the chef, but I’m afraid he refused to do it.”

“Refused! I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.”

“The fact is madam, this is how we serve it here. The raw fish is marinated in rice vinegar and six different herbs. To cook it would be to destroy the delicate balance of flavour.”

“Look, cut the crap, will you. Are you going to cook this thing or aren’t you?” She picked up her plate and thrust it at him.

“Well, madam, I’m afraid the answer is going to have to be no.”

I peered over the edge of my menu. This was getting rather interesting.

Blue Legwarmer tossed back her red bobbed hair and glared at the waiter. “Do you know who I am? Do you?” Now she mentioned it, she did look vaguely familiar.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Well,” she said, clearly taken aback at the waiter’s ignorance, “I’m Sachiko Fiorelli, and shall I tell you what I’m going to do if you don’t pan sear this right this instant? I’m going to get on the phone to one of your newspapers and tell them about the God awful way in which I was treated.”

Oh no. Oh dear God no. I hadn’t recognized her before, because she’d had her long black hair chopped off and dyed red. I had to get out, before Tanya got here and started making a scene.

I got up and walked over to her table. “Look, sorry to interrupt,” I said to Sachiko, before turning to the waiter. “But I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I’m going to dine somewhere else tonight.”

“You see what’s happening, don’t you?” said Sachiko. “This woman doesn’t want to eat here because of the terrible service.”

“It’s not that. The service is perfectly charming,” I said, backing towards the door and colliding with Tanya, who was just rushing in. She was still in the black wig and looked dishevelled, like a witch who’d been pulled through a hedge.

“What a palaver,” she said. “Those bouncers wouldn’t let me in for ages. Acted like I was some kind of criminal. So, where are the free drinks?”

“Actually,” I said, “I was thinking we might go somewhere else. My treat.”

“And waste four hundred quid? Are you mad? Where are we sitting?”

“This way,” I said, pulling her past the waiter, who’d finally seen sense and was taking Sachiko’s tuna away to be pan seared. I sat her down with her back towards Sachiko. This might work out fine, I thought, if I could just keep her distracted.

“I can’t believe the state of these chairs,” I said, turning round to show her my scratched back. “I’ve just been impaled on one.”

“Don’t be silly, these are just gorgeous,” she said, gazing at the chairs. “Limited edition, by Daniel van Deutsch. They go for two thousand pounds a pop. Absolutely magnificent craftsmanship.”

“Oh yeah, they’re great, as long as you don’t plan on doing something crazy, like sitting on them. I’d keep yourself covered up if I were you.”

“Well, okay, maybe I will.” She sat down, still in her shiny purple jacket. “You do look a bit bloody. Thank goodness Connor didn’t turn up, the state you’re in, eh?”

I still think I might have prevented her from catching sight of Sachiko, if only she hadn’t twisted round in her chair to get the waiter’s attention. When she’d ordered an apple martini and twisted back to face me, her expression was one of pure greed. I knew what she was going to say even before she leaned over and hissed, “You’ll never guess who’s at the next table.”

“I know who it is,” I hissed back. “But she’s in a bad mood and I would really appreciate it if you’d just leave her alone.”

“But this is such a brilliant opportunity.”

“No,” I said firmly, staring at my menu. “Now what shall we have?”

We were no luckier than Sachiko with our order. My swordfish was rubbery, and the pumpkin and bean soup had bits of grit floating in it and smelt of mouldy cheese. Luckily, however, the cocktails were flavourful, potent and utterly divine. As were the two bottles of Shiraz.

Tanya’s cheeks were glowing from the booze, as she ploughed through a plate of proscuitto wrapped in squid, or maybe it was the other way round. In any case, it looked like road kill. As Tanya drank, she became louder and louder. It was as if Sachiko and Tanya were competing to be the two loudest people in the restaurant.

My head was spinning as I listened to the two conversations.

Sachiko was talking about her therapist. “What Ronnie’s saying, is that I need to find closure about Natasha.” She was referring to Natasha Jones, the lead guitarist from Jezebel’s Revenge. The gossip mags had reported that they’d been in a covert relationship—Natasha had insisted on keeping the relationship a secret, as she wasn’t publicly out yet—until Sachiko leaked the affair to the press, at which point Natasha promptly gave her the boot.

“Well, is that really such a bad idea? “ said Sideburns. “You’ve been over for a month now, and Natasha is refusing to take your calls.”

“But there’s stuff I still need to discuss.”

“I really don’t think she wants to know. Forget about her. Why don’t you try your tuna? See if they cooked it right.”

Tanya had been listening to the conversation, but now that Sachiko was silently chewing, Tanya threw down her fork and said, “So, have you decided whether you’re going to call your little friend?” By now she was looking utterly deranged. Her wig had slipped back from her forehead, and a few blonde curls were poking free.

“What little friend?” I said nervously. I sensed she was a time bomb ready to go off. Any moment now, the levels of alcohol inside her would become dangerously high, and she’d explode all over Sachiko.

“I mean, your friend at Genderblast, Helenka Smythe. It’s obvious she wants you to come into her boudoir.”

“Yeah. For tea and scones.”

“Or tea and something.” She started to giggle loudly.

“Ha bloody ha.”

And then, suddenly, I looked up to see Sachiko beaming down at me with a winning smile.

“Hi, I’m Sachiko Fiorelli.” She held out her hand to me. “Pleased to meet you.”

Somewhat perplexed at why she was talking to me, I shook it. “Er, Scarlett Staines.” She lowered herself into the chair beside me. Tanya gawped at her, mouth hanging open to reveal some half-chewed squid. “And this is Tanya Putschnik.”

Sachiko eyed her with distaste, before turning her attention back to me.

“Sorry to butt in like this. I don’t usually listen in to people’s conversations, but it would be hard not to, with us all kind of squished in here together.” She gave me another delightful smile. “But when I heard you talking about Helenka Smythe, I just had to come over. She’s a buddy of yours?”

I opened my mouth, unsure as to whether I could legitimately define myself as being on buddy terms with Helenka. But before I could reply, Sachiko had begun talking again.

“I just adore Helenka. Me and Chad,” she said, giving Sideburns a nod. “He’s my PA. We always catch her show.” She shook back her shiny red helmet of hair. “There was this great guest on recently. Malc, I think his name was. Do you know who I mean?”

“Yeah, I do. Actually, he really is a buddy of mine.”

“Wow! Really. I thought he was, like, inspirational.”

“Malc, a gay version of Oprah?” said Tanya shaking her head. “Sorry, I just don’t see it.”

Pointedly ignoring Tanya, she turned to me. “You probably heard about my breakup with Natasha Jones.” I nodded. “For a long time I thought I’d lost the greatest girl ever. But Malc put it all, like, in perspective.”

“He did?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. I made mistakes in that relationship, sure I did. Because I believed in it too much. I wanted her to be The One, but she wasn’t. I thought she saw a future for us. Turns out she didn’t.” Sachiko stared off into the distance. I was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by all this American style emoting. “Anyhow, Malc showed me that from now on I should be open minded about who I get involved with. That my future girlfriends don’t necessarily have to have all those qualities I look for in a woman, which Natasha just happened to have, like being able to play guitar really well or looking sexy with a bed head, or being real smart and knowing about Eastern philosophy and shit.” She pulled herself up sharply. “Where was I?”

“How Malc changed your life,” said Tanya.

“Oh yeah. I bet he’s real tolerant now he’s found true love, right?”

Tanya opened her mouth. I couldn’t risk her saying something really stupid, so I cut in with, “To tell you the truth, Malc hasn’t actually found The One yet.”

“I don’t get it. What was all that about some guy barfing all over his shoes?”

“Um, just wishful thinking.”

“Well, that is a shame. A guy like Malc deserves to find someone as kind-hearted as he is.”

Tanya started to laugh, until I kicked her sharply under the table.

“Anyway, look.” She stood up, reached into her handbag and pulled out a card. “I’m in London for a couple of weeks on a Prada shoot. But I was wondering, as you’re a friend of Helenka’s, whether maybe you could get me a couple of tickets for the show. That would be like, totally awesome.” She rolled her big almond shaped eyes. “Maybe your people could phone my people.”

I took the card and popped it in my bag. “I don’t actually have any people, but I’ll see what I can do.”

But Sachiko wasn’t listening. She was staring at Tanya, and suddenly her friendliness had evaporated, leaving a hard, suspicious look in its place.

“It is you, isn’t it? I thought so. The one from Gold Rush,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“You are clever,” Tanya replied, whipping off her wig. “How lovely to see you again.”

It looked like Sachiko wasn’t equally overjoyed at the reunion. But before she could reach for the mace, I’d placed my hand on Tanya’s arm.

“May I introduce you to Tanya Putschnik, one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

“Pleased to meet you, again,” Sachiko said, giving a rather fake smile.

“I do apologize if I upset you the other night,” Tanya said. “It’s just that I had this proposition I wanted to put to you—”

“Well, we won’t keep you any longer,” I said, cutting Tanya off before she made an utter ass of herself. “I’ll see what I can do about those tickets.”

“Yeah, you do that. And look Tabitha, I’m sorry I maced you. But I only recently got rid of a stalker I had in LA.”

“It’s Tanya actually, and thank you. Apology accepted.”

******************************

“This is it. A sign, a God given sign that Sachiko is going to be the new face of Fondantdew and that Tanya Putschnik will get a massive commission.”

“Steady on, will you. If you go all heavy handed on her again, there’s no knowing what she might do. I didn’t want to ask how she got rid of that stalker. One phone call to one of her people and he was probably erased from the face of the earth.”

We were strolling towards Notting Hill tube station, when Tanya turned to me and said, “I was just thinking. Sachiko just gave you a nice little opportunity to phone Gavin without being too obvious.”

“What?”

“Well, you can phone him and ask him to send her tickets, right? And get me one too, so I can meet her after the show and gently ease her into the idea of Fondantdew.”

“Look, the answer’s no. I am not going to phone Gavin. He’ll think I’m into him, which I’m not. He’s way too rough around the edges.”

“Sure he is. You can’t fool me with all this ‘he’s not refined enough’ bollocks. You know what I think? That you two should stop playing games and just get down to it.”

“Thanks for the concern about my love life, but we both know that you just want to get your mitts on Sachiko. So forget about it. I’m not phoning Gavin, okay?”

“Well, how am I going to get tickets then?”

“Oh, figure it out yourself,” I said. I couldn’t bear an awful tube ride, with her giving me the silent treatment all the way home, so I hailed a passing cab and jumped into it.

As soon as I got into bed and closed my eyes, the room started to spin. At some point the room stopped spinning and sleep overpowered me. I was sucked into a hyper-real dream in which I was naked in an anonymous room, my thigh slipping between the hard thighs of a naked man, and experiencing that long forgotten sensation of newness you feel when you go to bed with someone for the first time.

Filled with a rabid urge to trace his contours, to explore every bit of him, I began to lick my way down the hard plane of his stomach, while dimly aware that he was twisting my hair into a rope at the back of my neck. Now, just as my head reached his erect cock, as my tongue made its first exploratory swirl around its tip, he jerked the rope of hair, like I was a dog on a leash.

“Not now,” he said. “We need to get started.”

Started with what? I thought, outraged that he was bossing me about. Reluctantly, I slid up his chest, until I was level with his face, which was not really a face. His nose was barely formed, just a bump, without any hard ridge of bone or nostrils. There were no eyes either, only eye sockets, covered in smooth skin. Only his mouth was fully formed and kissable, and as we kissed, desire fluttered up inside me and soon I had forgotten all about his bizarre physiognomy. By now I was absolutely aching to feel him inside me, so I pushed him back down on the bed and straddled him.

In one deft movement he rolled me onto my back. “Now,” he said, holding up a yellow silk scarf. “Why don’t you move over so I can tie up your wrists.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

He hesitated. “You did tick the ‘Light Bondage Play’ option on the order form, didn’t you?”

“The what? Who are you, anyway?”

“The Robolover Deluxe. You ordered me from room service.”

He sighed, running the scarf over my bare shoulder and causing me to shudder.

“Well, hurry up and make up your mind,” he said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

Had I ticked the bondage box? It was unlikely. I’d tried all that once with Alistair. He’d consulted a book, One Hundred Useful Knots, while I lay there, feeling like one of his Ikea flat packs, waiting to be assembled. Although that experience had been an unmitigated disaster, I decided it might be worth another go.

Once I’d given him the go ahead, Robolover started attaching my wrists to the metallic knobs of the bedpost with the confidence of someone who been knotting women to beds all his life.

I peered up at his face, where a nose and eyes were beginning to form. Now he seemed familiar, yet frustratingly, I couldn’t place him.

Once I was attached to the bedpost, he lowered himself on top of me, pressed his lips against mine, and gently prized open my mouth with his tongue. Now he mixed hard, insistent kisses with playful, teasing ones, until I was all whirled up like a milkshake in a blender. And now, as he pulled away and I could see his face—now fully human—a panicky flurry rose up and up inside me, as I realized that Robolover could only be one person. Everything about the way he smelt, the way he looked, reminded me of Gavin. Or wait, surely Robolover was Gavin, wasn’t he?

I was about to ask him who he really was, when he started to gently roll my nipple between thumb and forefinger, and suddenly I no longer cared if he was Gavin or Robolover or Father Christmas, because it just felt so good.

“I just know you’re going to love this,” he said, releasing my nipple and giving a macabre, sexy laugh. He tied a blindfold over my eyes, leaving me biting my lip with anticipation, as a silky blackness enfolded me.

Every inch of my skin waited. Waited and waited, for a brush of a fingertip, a kiss. Anything. But there was no one here. Nothing but an empty hotel room and a stupid woman tied to a bed. Robolover had left the room. I tumbled into panic mode.

Then, just as I wondered if I should start screaming, I heard the fridge being opened, the clatter of ice cubes into a glass.

“Aaah,” I couldn’t help but groan, as he teased an ice cube down my neck and over my breasts and down, down, to where he made my clit jump as it made contact with the ice. I was so warm, and worked up, that soon the ice had melted and was dripping between my thighs, mingling with my juices. He began to stroke me between the legs, slipped two fingers inside, causing me to jerk my crotch up against his palm. By now I was dying to come, grinding my clit against his palm and urging his fingers in, deeper, deeper. But just as the first tremors of orgasm began, he withdrew his hand, moved his body off the bed. The only sound now was my breathing, which echoed like the rush of sea on sand inside my head. By now I was less impatient, I knew he would touch me eventually, if I could just hold out for one more minute.

At last, contact. The light strokes of a whip rained down across my thighs, like a thousand tiny needles. When he stopped, my skin felt fuzzy and prickly, not sore at all. Now, unexpectedly, I felt his chest crush my breasts, a wave of hot, fresh sweat filled my nostrils, as he kissed me, hard. He untied my wrists, leaving the blindfold on. We kissed. He bit my earlobe. We were locked inside that blackness, all sensations heightened, just licking and kissing each other everywhere, until finally he plunged into me. After only a few strokes, I had blasted off into an orgasmic stratosphere that shook the bed.

Hmm, wonder what that dream means?

The Shit Hits the Fan

2007-12-14T16:14:00.000-08:00

I was sitting at my desk, staring unenthusiastically at my lunch of a strawberry yogurt and a banana, when my mother rang.

“Hello mein Liebling, did you receive my new package?”

“Yes,” I heard myself saying. “It arrived yesterday. Thank you so much.” No point upsetting her by telling her I’d started a new strategy of dropping her parcels off at the local homeless shelter.

“And how is Alistair?”

I wanted to say, “Why don’t you ask Constanza, she probably knows a lot more about how he is than I do.” Instead I said, “He’s fine.”

“And Ivy?”

I’d been trying to forget the Ivy incident. I’d had to bribe her with a new princess outfit complete with crown, so that she wouldn’t mention it to Alistair or Constanza. I wasn’t exactly proud of myself for what had happened, but as far as I was concerned, my irrational behaviour had been a blip, a temporary aberration.

“She’s great. She’s wonderful. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to chit chat right now. Can I call you later?” I put down the phone, picked up my banana and stared at it with distaste. What I really fancied was a Big Mac, but I was about as likely to indulge that craving as I was to ask Alistair what exactly was going on between him and Constanza.

“Everything okay?” said a voice. I looked up. It was Connor, who was standing by my desk, looking down at me with concern.

“How did you get in?” I said, stupidly.

“Well, the door was open. I’ll go if you like.”

“No.” I stood up, banana in hand. “No!” I shouted, waving it at him.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m great. Really.”

“Look, I was going to ask if you fancied a spot of lunch? But I see you have your banana. Maybe some other time.”

“No, now would be perfect.” I’d more or less given up on the idea that Connor and I were ever going to have an affair. But maybe we could still make it? In any case, a sandwich was hardly a date. There was no need to get my knickers in a bunch with a heap of unrealistic expectations.

I just didn’t expect to feel so, well, happy, as I sat beside him in the watery sunshine, eating a turkey sandwich with no butter and a scrape of mustard. We were on a bench in Soho Square, a place I don’t usually frequent because its paving slabs are splotched with pigeon droppings, which totally gross me out.

“I don’t go out for lunch much,” he said. “Because I resent paying five quid for a sandwich.” He pulled a brown lump out of his bread. “You know what, there are bloody great nuts in this.”

“Oh, I thought you knew that unless you say otherwise they give you the walnut focaccia.”

He peeled open his sandwich, shaking his head. “This cheese definitely isn’t cheddar.” He peered down at the orange wedge ponging up the sandwich he’d bought at The Rustique Market, Soho’s premier sandwich shop. “This is bollocks,” he said, tossing it in the bin.

We smiled at each other and my heart did a little leap. Suddenly I wanted to tell him everything. That I respected his hard-working nature, as well as his ability to commit to a thirty year mortgage on a pricey apartment in Belsize Park. How I could never hope to relate to someone like Gavin, who wasn’t on the property ladder, and didn’t give a toss if he ever got on the lowest rung. Not that Gavin wasn’t ridiculously, temptingly sexy.

No, not that, I wasn’t going to tell him that.

Where was I?

Oh yes. I wanted to tell him that being with him made me forget to feel apprehensive about the amount of germs one can catch from pigeon droppings. Did he have any idea of the significance of that?

But I didn’t say any of it. I just sat there thinking about how the pigeon droppings reminded me of an incident in my youth. Did I dare tell him about it?

“What are you thinking?” I asked, because he was staring at me and it was making me feel uncomfortable.

“Just that I’m glad we met.” He blushed.

I coughed on a piece of dry sandwich that had gotten lodged in my throat. “Well, we almost didn’t. If my mother had had her way I’d be a Hollywood star by now.”

“Well, you certainly have the looks for it.”

“Thanks, I certainly don’t have the talent for it. But try telling that to my mother. She’s always been obsessed with the movie Gone with the Wind, and named me Scarlett because she reckons I’m Scarlett O’Hara’s, or rather, Vivien Leigh’s doppelgänger.”

“Can’t see it myself.”

“No one can, apart from Mum. She also named my two older brothers Frank and Marlon. Guess what, they look nothing like Sinatra and Brando. She wanted them to become actors too, but they point blank refused to take acting lessons, and as soon as they could, they hotfooted it off to Australia. But I never managed to stand up to her. And after Dad died when I was just ten, I guess I didn’t want to add to her misery, so I just went along with the ballet and tap and singing lessons, even though I hated every moment of it. Every Christmas I’d ask for something I really wanted, like a personal organizer and pen set, and get something awful instead, like a tutu and ballet slippers. I was the only kid I knew who absolutely loathed Christmas.”

Connor laughed and looked like he was really interested in what I was saying. He didn’t have that distracted look in his eyes that Alistair often does.

“So naturally,” I continued, “I got out of there as soon as I could to go to college. You feel all free when you head off, don’t you?” He nodded. “You think you’re going to get away from real life, to some great big nirvana. My nirvana was Cambridge. “And it was nirvana, at first. I met this really cute guy called Duncan, and we spent the next few months holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes and shagging like crazy.

“And then it all went wrong. She started sending food parcels, like I was out in the wilds, away from civilization. Even though my brothers had already moved out, she couldn’t stop buying and cooking enough food to feed an army. She was forever giving away food to the neighbours, as well as parcelling it up and sending it to me. I was regularly receiving packets stuffed with homemade jam and apple strudel, heaps of German sausages and jars of sauerkraut. To this day she’s still sending me this stuff, despite the fact that I can’t stand sauerkraut, although admittedly, I’ve never actually told her.”

“Wow. You are a people pleaser. You could just tell her to stop sending the stuff.”

“I could. I should. I will,” I said, knowing I’d never get up the courage. “These days I’ve started donating her packages to a homeless shelter, but back then I’d put the whole lot out on my first floor balcony for the birds to eat.

“So one Saturday morning, there we were, me and my boyfriend, naked in bed, when my mother knocked on my apartment door and started calling my name. Her voice caused me to go into panic overdrive. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it, being scared of your mother finding out you’re doing it, but I just knew there’d be a really embarrassing scene so … well, actually, I can’t really justify what I did what next.”

“And what was that?”

“I bundled Duncan out onto the balcony. As it was mid-January, I tossed him out a blanket as well.”

“Lucky old Duncan.”

“I know it was awful of me, but I really wasn’t thinking straight. I managed to slip on my dressing gown just as she was letting herself in, dragging a shopping trolley full of food behind her.

“’A horror of a time I have had, getting all of this on the train,’ Mum said. ‘But I knew you’d be wanting to see your old Mutti and I didn’t want to be arriving with the empty hands.’

She walked past me and into the kitchen, took one look at the miniscule fridge, and frowned. ‘Why you are not telling me the size of your fridge? Where are you storing the food I am sending to you?’

“’Oh, I keep it on the balcony. It’s cool out there and keeps everything nice and fresh.’”

She cheered up at this, and while I was wondering how on earth I was going to get rid of her before Duncan caught pneumonia, she had walked to the screen door that led out onto the balcony, yanked it open and stepped outside.

“I waited tensely, barely breathing, until she reappeared, a look of disgust on her face.

“‘I am not believing this. After everything I have been doing for you, this is how you are repaying me.’

“’This is what I’m doing now Mum,” I said, in a rare moment of bravery. “You’ll just have to accept that I’m not going to be pure for marriage.”

Connor chuckled.

“’Come here,’ she said, pulling me outside.

“That was strange. There was no sign of Duncan.

“I peered over the side of the balcony, but he wasn’t down there, either. And why should he be? I shouldn’t imagine he’d been desperate enough to make the two floor drop. Which just left the teensy weensy question of where exactly Duncan was.

“It was hard to think clearly, because at that point she really started losing it. And while she shouted about the sins of letting food spoil, she pointed at the lumps of strudel, half pecked sausages and strands of sauerkraut on the balcony, which were all liberally caked in bird crap.”

Connor shook his head. “I can’t imagine you living in filth like that. I mean, well, you’re very neat aren’t you? I’ve seen you down on your hands and knees with your mini vac when you thought no one was looking.”

I bit my lip, feeling embarrassed. I didn’t like the fact that Connor had been spying on me. Or maybe I did, a little. “Well, I was a bit more relaxed back then. My um, cleaning obsession only started a few years after I got married. Where was I?”

“Your Mum was having a go.”

“Yeah, so while she was yelling and cleaning up the balcony, my mind was in a whirl, thinking about what could have happened to Duncan. Up until then I hadn’t believed in alien abductions, but now I was having second thoughts.

“When the doorbell rang, I flung open the door. I was so crazed by then that I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find some friendly aliens on my doormat, ready to return Duncan to his desperately worried girlfriend.

“But instead of little green men, it was my neighbour, Laura. Usually we were quite pally, but this time she didn’t even say hi, just stood there, giving me the evil eye. Eventually she said, ‘I’ve come for Duncan’s clothes.’

“’Where is he?’ I asked. But she didn’t reply, just marched right past me.

“’In my apartment, of course,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘He climbed over onto my balcony and was banging on my screen door, so I let him in.’ I tried to take in the information. There was just a few feet between the two balconies, but still, he’d risked his life by jumping across.

“I raced after her into my bedroom and made up a bundle of his clothes.

“’I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘I really need to talk to him, to apologize.’

“’Well, he doesn’t want to talk to you,’ she said, grabbing the clothes and flouncing off. After that, for some reason, Duncan wanted nothing to do with me.”
Connor chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Are you always this cruel to men?”

“Not really.” I collapsed into a fit of giggles. “I swear, it was my mother. She made me do it.”

“Actually, although I hate to admit it, I think I might have done the same if my Mum had paid me a surprise visit. I love her to bits, but she’s a right old busy body. I once caught her listening in while I was on the phone to a girlfriend.”

“How did you find out?”

“We were in the middle of talking about all the things we wanted to do to each other if we ever got a moment alone, when she chipped in with, ‘The dirty words coming out of your mouths! And the pair of you not yet sixteen. You’ll go to confession tomorrow and clean your minds of all this filth, I’ll make sure of it.’”

“My Mum was the same, trying to instil the good old Catholic guilt, making out sex was a sin.”

“You’re a Catholic too?”

“I thought I was lapsed, but the guilt thing is hard to shake off, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s practically impossible, especially with Mum ringing every Sunday to ask if I’ve been to mass, and me saying yes I have, when of course, I haven’t so much as driven past a church.”

“And you tell me to stand up to my mother. You are such a hypocrite.”

“I know, aren’t I just?” he said, standing up and brushing crumbs from his trousers. “Look, this is great, but well, we’ve been gone an age. Do you think we should be getting back?”

“I suppose so,” I said reluctantly, following him out of the square.

As we chatted easily on our way back to the office, I realized that sex between us was never going to happen unless I took the bull by the horns. I didn’t want to be too forward. This was a well brought up boy, with morals, after all.

“Maybe we could meet up some time, outside work?” I said, as casually as I could.

“Yeah, I guess we could.” He looked flustered.

“I don’t want to twist your arm. After all, you are a good Catholic boy and I am married.”

As we walked on in silence, he chewed this over. Maybe he was wondering if it was all going to be worth the risk.

Eventually he smiled and said, “Your husband, is he a big fella? I just need to know what I’d be dealing with if he chose to come after me.”

“Well, he is fairly tall, but, look, he works long hours. It’s pretty unlikely you’d ever cross paths.”

“All right then. I’m game if you are.” Not such a good Catholic boy then, after all.

We stood outside our office block, and Connor stared at me with a hungry expression I hadn’t seen before.

“What about Saturday night?” he said, as we pushed open the swing doors and walked towards the lift. Several of my colleagues were waiting for the lift too, and suddenly I was self-conscious. I didn’t want them to know that we were considering hopping into bed together. But he was staring at me so lustfully, that everyone had to know what we were up to. It was most disconcerting.

“Tomorrow?,” I stuttered, as the door pinged open. I loved the fact that things were finally moving, but goodness me, couldn’t he be a bit more discrete? “That would be great. E-mail me the details.”

Back in my office, I finally allowed myself to revel in the gorgeousness of what had just happened. I sat down at my desk, picked up a pen, doodled Connor’s name on my pad and didn’t do a scratch of work for the rest of the day. I called Ben, my hairstylist, and begged him to fit me in tomorrow morning, and was just going to knock off work early when my phone began to ring.

“Hi gorgeous, Gavin here.” My mouth went dry. What did he want? I’d gone to his house, made out with him like a coy little teenager, and left him high and dry. What was he, some kind of masochist looking for a repeat performance?”

“I’ve been meaning to ring for days, only things are so darn busy around here. How are you sweets?”

Connor walked past my office and gave me a wave. Connor was serious relationship material, I told myself. And Gavin was well, a bit silly. It wasn’t exactly mature to pretend to be gay just to get a job, now was it? I took a deep breath.

“Look Gavin,” I said. “I think you’re very nice. But I’m not really the type of girl you think I am. I admit, things have really hit rock bottom with my husband, but I’m not ready for an affair.”

“I hear you sweetheart, I hear you. But this ain’t no booty call.” Thoroughly humiliated, I listened as he wittered on camply. “I need to talk to you about Helenka. She won’t stop going on about you, or your dark aura, for that matter.”

“I see,” I said, feeling like an absolute ass.

“Yes well, to tell you the truth, it’s beginning to do my head in. Can’t you just ring her and go have a cup of tea or something?”

“Well, um, yes, I suppose I could.”

“You’re an angel. I’ll catch you later.”

What the heck was all that about? I thought, thoroughly confused. Maybe he was playing a game, the cool I’m not interested act. Well, I could play that game too. No problem at all.

************************************

Before I left work, I got an e-mail from Connor, and was somewhat relieved to find that our big date would be taking place at The Attic, a hyper-trendy restaurant which, bizarrely, was located in a basement. I wanted this affair to start with a sizzle, and had been dreading an announcement that dinner would be a plate of sausage and mash at The Dog and Duck, where the only sizzle would have been the sound of sausages spluttering in hot oil from the kitchen.

It looked like I had Curly Mackaw to thank for this more imaginative choice of venue. He’d wangled two seats at The Attic to apologize to Connor for running the haemorrhoid competition. It’s practically impossible to get a reservation at The Attic. I know, because I once tried, and was told by a very snooty woman that she could offer me something in ten months time. Was that okay? Well of course it bloody well wasn’t. I’d told her, in the politest way possible, where she could stick her reservation.

Anyway, there was no point feeling jealous of the fact that Curly had managed to get a table so quickly. There was no great mystery about how it had happened. Being famous opened doors, it was as simple as that. Why sweat it, when Curly had very generously put four hundred pounds on Connor’s tab, which would make for a very nice evening, thank you very much.

I drove round to Tanya’s apartment in a haze of excitement, desperate to tell her my good news. Since the lock on the lobby door of her apartment block was broken, I pushed it open, ran up the stairs and started ringing her doorbell. I waited an age, hopping from foot to foot with impatience, but when no one answered, I let myself in. As I raced into the living room, I found her lying on the sofa, a glass of Baileys in her hand.

“Why didn’t you answer the door?” I said, panting with excitement.

“Sorry, I don’t feel very sociable.”

“I just had to come round and tell you that I am officially having an affair with Connor. I’m meeting him at The Attic on Saturday night.”

“A dinner date does not constitute an affair.”

I walked over to her barbed wire sideboard, which Tanya referred to as ‘totally modern, totally now,’ and which I usually ended up snagging my tights on, and poured myself a Baileys over ice. “What’s with you, anyway?”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’m ever going to get Sachiko to be the face of Fondantdew.”

What was going on? This kind of soul searching was most unlike Tanya.

“Of course you will,” I said, sitting down and putting an arm around her shoulders.

She crunched a piece of ice in her mouth. “By the way, are you going to see Gavin again?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s all wrong for me. He’s too young, for a start, and honestly, you should see the state of his apartment, it’s practically a squat.”

“Well if that’s the way you feel, do you mind if I take a shot at him?”

“A shot? He’s not a rhino,” I barked. Tanya looked at me quizzically, so I backtracked. “It’s just that it’s messy. Going out with other people’s cast offs. You wouldn’t want me going after your rejects, like that Travolta-clone you picked up the other night, now would you?”

“Don’t remind me.” She shuddered. “I’d much rather talk about something more juicy. Like this affair you’re quite obviously having with Gavin.”

“Please. He made it quite clear when he called today, that he’s not the slightest bit interested.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why call at all, if he’s not interested?”

“He only wanted to tell me to call Helenka. She can’t stop talking about me, apparently.” I pulled a face.

Tanya groaned. “Another admirer. You are a lucky girl.”

“I’m hardly going to bed Helenka.”

“Never say never,” said Tanya, giggling. Her mobile rang and she grabbed at it like a piranha snapping at a hunk of meat.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she listened intently. Finally she said, “The pudding aisle at the Muswell Hill M&S. Gotcha.”

Hopping off the sofa, she said, “Sorry. Gotta dash. My mate Jake’s spotted Sachiko.”

“Hold on a minute. What would Sachiko be doing in a suburban branch of M&S? Are you sure Jake’s not having you on?”

“Of course not. Jake may be a paparazzo, but he’s scrupulously honest.”

“But there’s no such thing as an honest paparazzo,” I said, as she picked up her bag and flew towards the door. “Wait! Even if you do catch up with her in the pudding aisle, isn’t she going to recognize you and mace you again?”

“What do you think I am, stupid?” she said, pulling a short brown wig from her bag and pulling it down over her scalp. She slammed out of the apartment, leaving me shaking my head. Despite the loopiness of the plan, I couldn’t help but admire her drive.

I hung around drinking Baileys and losing myself in trash TV, until I realized I couldn’t hide out here all night, and headed home.

When I slipped into bed, I was surprised to find that, even though it was only ten o’clock, it was already occupied by a slumbering Alistair. As I lay beside him, I began to think about my date with Connor and how incredibly romantic it was going to be, and before long I was lulled into gentle, rose-tinted dreams.

I was woken by Alistair’s elbow poking me in the ribs as he got out of bed. Squinting at the alarm clock, I noted that the red glowing numerals said 2:11.

I lay there drowsily, vaguely curious as to where he could be heading, when I heard the click of a door being shut, further down the hall. Since the only bedrooms down there belong to Constanza and Ivy, it didn’t take Einstein to figure out where Alistair was headed.

So he was sleeping with Constanza. I felt a mixture of anger and outrage rise up inside me, and at the bottom of it all, a kind of relief that my suspicions had finally been proved correct.

And yet, could I blame him? After all, she was everything I’d once been. Since she’d started cleaning the place, it was spotless, beyond even my wildly unrealistic standards of hygiene. My underwear was soft and well cared for and smelt of lily of the valley. Perfect Constanza. She probably fucked better than I did too.

Even though I knew the idea was crazy, I decided to go and investigate.

I padded down the hall, past Ivy’s room, and past the bathroom they shared, until I was standing outside Constanza’s room. Pressing my ear against her door, I strained and strained, but I couldn’t hear anything. Not a murmur, not even a sigh.

I jumped as I heard the toilet being flushed behind me. Which of the lovebirds was in the bathroom, I wondered? Maybe Constanza, popping in her diaphragm? Or Alistair, relieving his bladder before ravishing his mistress? I knew it wasn’t Ivy, as she always left the bathroom door open if she needed to use the toilet.

“What are you doing?” said Alistair, coming out of the bathroom in a pair of rumpled pyjama bottoms.

God, he was cool. Had he no shame?

“I might ask you the same question.”

“That’s none of your business,” he said, walking down the hall to the bedroom.

I followed him, fury building inside me, as I tried to keep calm. He wasn’t getting away with it that easily.

I climbed into bed and clicked on my bedside light. He got in beside me and looked at me warily.

“No, really. I want to know why you were peeing down the hall, when we have a perfectly good bathroom right here?”

“Well, you’re always telling me that my flushing the toilet in the en suite at night disturbs you, so I thought I’d use the hall toilet instead. Is that okay, or is that flush too noisy for you as well?”

“You must think I was born yesterday. Since when do you care about waking me with your flush?”

He gave a martyred sigh and cradled his head in his hands.

“Look, can I be honest?” he said.

“I wish you would.”

“I can’t go on like this.”

“Can’t go on with what?”

“Well, with your paranoia. With you flying off the handle all the time. Frankly, I’ve had just about all I can take.”

“You’ve had all you can take? Don’t make me laugh.”

“If you must know, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought, and what I’m suggesting is a trial separation, while we both figure out just what it is we really want from this marriage. Because it’s obvious we can’t go on like this.”

“I know exactly what I want. I want for you to stop pretending that this trial separation is for my benefit, when it’s quite obvious that it’s just a convenient way for you to have your cake and eat it.”

“Okay, I don’t have a clue what you’re on about, but look, let’s keep this simple. I’m going to move out for a while, until we can sort out where we go from here.”

So he wasn’t going to admit it. Fine. I was damned if I was going to force a confession. Still, it sounded ominous. My heart started banging in my chest. “But where will you go?”

“A hotel, I expect. I haven’t figured out the details. So, do I take it you’re in agreement?”

A part of me was screaming with delight at the prospect of being without Alistair, while another part remained perplexed. “I don’t know. Well, yes, I suppose it might make sense.”

“Fine. Then I’ll move out this weekend.”

And while we were very politely discussing the arrangements of our separation, a rather exciting thought occurred to me. “There’s really no need. You have all your files and stuff in the basement. Why don’t I move out? I could stay at Tanya’s.”

“Well, okay, if you prefer. And now, if you don’t mind, I really would like to get some sleep.”

I switched off the light and lay down. I knew I should be feeling devastated about the prospect of losing him. But what I really wanted to ask was, “Can we see other people?” So I did.

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” Of course you hadn’t, you two-timing slimeball. “Sure, why not?”

“Look,” I said, knowing I should just shut up. Now. “I know you’re sleeping with Constanza. It’s really pretty obvious, so you needn’t bother denying it.”

“What are you on about now?” he said, his voice slightly muffled against his pillow. “I mean, Constanza’s attractive, sure. But she’s also my daughter’s nanny, so I don’t think about it. I don’t even go there.”

“Really.” I huddled under the duvet, feeling like a total fool. I had the awful, sinking feeling he was telling the truth.

My Family and Other Animals

2007-12-09T16:13:00.000-08:00

Here we are, the three of us, at Regent’s Park Zoo. It’s an unseasonably balmy day, and consequently, the place reeks of eye-wateringly concentrated urine and animal glands, which are beginning to give me a migraine. I’m on my best behaviour, and so is Alistair. If anyone had been doing a photographic documentary, I don’t think our faces would have revealed a trace of what we were really thinking.

Snap. Inside the monkey house, I grin and do ape poses. I am thinking of Gavin’s face on the pillow beside me, bathed in early morning sunlight.

Snap. The three of us crammed onto the little train which skirts the perimeter of the zoo. Alistair is thinking of what excuse he can come up with to get away to meet Constanza.

Snap. I am looking through the transparent barrier of the polar bear enclosure, watching the bears tumble and splash in the pool. Don’t those big bears ever feel confined in such a small space?

Snap. We watch a hippo and her baby rolling around in mud. Such an idyllic life, I think. I had that once. I think I also had, surprise, surprise, spontaneity. It’s all coming back to me now. Before the massive mortgage, Alistair’s long hours, the accumulation of antiques, designer clothes, nanny and child, Alistair would often phone me on Friday afternoon at work and surprise me with tickets for the weekend to Prague or Frankfurt or even New York. Hope flutters up inside of me. Maybe there’s a way we can get some of the thrill back, other than through sleeping with other people.

“Do you ever think of just jetting off on our own one weekend? Like we used to before we had Ivy? I mean, why shouldn’t we, now that we have Constanza?”

“Because I can’t. With this job, I can’t just bugger off whenever I fancy. I need to be accessible to my clients, around the clock. I thought you understood that.”

I’m crushed with disappointment, but smile anyway. “I do. Of course I do. It’s just that sometimes I can’t help but look back at the way we were. Once we were happy with nothing, with just each other and a rented apartment.”

“I’m happy now. Aren’t you?”

“I suppose so, only, don’t you ever wish our lives could be simpler?“

”Actually, that’s something I’ve been thinking about for some time,” he said, rather ominously. I’m about to ask him to clarify what he means, but Ivy’s clamouring to be put up on his shoulders, so I hold my tongue.

Snap. Ivy sits on Alistair’s shoulders, the purple rubber boots she’s insisted on wearing bounce against his chest.

Snap. Alistair takes a call. He shows no emotion as he talks on the phone, the sly dog. Although he tells me he is needed urgently at work, I’m pretty sure the call was from his mistress.

Snap. While Alistair exits the zoo, Ivy throws a tantrum, hurling herself to the ground. I shout at her to get up. She pounds the dusty earth with her fists. In this photo you’d definitely be able to see how I’m feeling: fed up with Ivy’s behaviour, angry at Alistair and generally on the verge of crying.

At this point I’d have had to ask the photographer to leave, because my migraine has kicked in and I’m feeling like someone is drilling a hole through my left eye socket. Then, to top it all, it starts to drizzle. I say, let’s go. Ivy doesn’t want to leave. Soon it’s bucketing down, and everyone’s running out of the zoo. Ivy splashes her way through puddles, enthusiastically splattering herself with mud. Eventually I manage to grab her hand and drag her into the SUV.

We’d been driving for about five minutes, when the pain inside my head grew more intense. If I can just get home, I thought, and lie down in a dark room, then maybe I can stop this pain, this throbbing, stinging pain.

“I’m hungry!” Ivy said, kicking at the back of my seat.

“Darling, can you please stop doing that,” I said through clenched teeth. The thought of muddy foot prints on the back of my seat caused a tiny flare of pain to start tunnelling its way into my right temple.

“I’m hungry.” Kick. Kick. Kick.

Now I had, at last, reached Upper Street, and my head had begun to throb in earnest. And while Ivy screamed, “Give me a Mars Bar!” for the tenth time, something snapped.

“I will get you a Mars Bar, but first you must be quiet,” I said, spying a pharmacy across the street. Then I parked the car, switched off the engine, and for reasons that now escape me, decided to leave my key in the ignition, and Ivy in the car.

Dashing across the busy road, I almost managed to get myself run over. Now, standing on the pavement in front of the pharmacy, I noticed that the migraine was blurring my vision. The orange lettering of the poster in the window appeared to be made up of fuzzy caterpillars, which were wriggling before my eyes.

Inside the shop, things only got worse. When I narrowed my eyes, attempting to locate a Mars Bar, the pain inside my head intensified. The lettering on the chocolate bars was dancing about and I couldn’t seem to focus. Finally, I lost my patience. Grabbing a random selection, I went up to pay. I was astonished that the price of three chocolate bars came to almost fifteen pounds, but who was I to quibble? I never bought chocolate. For all I knew, that was the going rate these day. I popped two migraine pills I’d found in my wallet, grabbed the plastic bag full of chocolate, and dashed across the road to my car.

My fingers slithered wetly in the door handle. It was locked.

Crouching down and wiping rain from the window, I squinted my eyes into the dim interior. Despite the fact that my vision was still playing tricks on me, I was pretty sure Ivy was gone.

I stood up and gazed into the rush of traffic, and found myself absorbed in the zoom of cars, the squelches of tires navigating wet ground. It was similar to the sense of detachment I’d experienced a couple of years ago on holiday, when my bag had been tugged from my hands at a crowded Florentine flower market. Only gradually did it begin to register, that this was a thousand times worse than losing a bunch of travellers’ checks and credit cards.

Forcing myself not to panic, I started walking briskly down Upper Street. I kept calling Ivy’s name, but to no avail. My ineffectual screams were sucked into the swirling wind.

Mercifully, the pills had started to work and my vision was returning to normal. I peered down the dark, glistening street, into the soft glow of restaurants, hopeful for a glimpse of her pink t-shirt and white shorts.

My shirt was sodden and stuck to my chest, and as I continued to trudge along, hope seeped out of me, to be replaced by a general sense of desperation. Where was she? Had she been run over, picked up by a passing paedophile? Or had she turned down a side street and was now heading, who knew where, wet and cold and sobbing?

The thought prompted me to start exploring the back streets. Further and further I roamed, until I glimpsed a blue light shining through the rain, which was still coming down heavily. As I stood outside the police station, I knew my time was up. There was nothing for it but to go in and face the music.

What I hadn’t reckoned on was literally facing the music. Entering the warm, brightly lit waiting area, I looked around at the half dozen uniformed police sitting on a semi-circle of chairs and singing their hearts out. One guy strummed a guitar, while the others sang a song I recognized as one of The Wiggles’ finest.

“Go Captain Go! Go Captain Go! Go Captain Feathersword, Ahoy!” they bellowed, as I walked towards the counter and rang the bell. When no one appeared, I turned to the singing cops and shouted, “I need to report a missing person.”

The guitar player, ruddy faced and shaven headed, stopped playing, as the singing skidded to a halt.

“All right, madam. No need to raise your voice,” he said. “We’re not deaf.”

“Hey, why’d you stop the music?” said a girl’s voice from beneath his seat.

As I looked down between his legs, I saw a curly blond head emerging. When Ivy saw me, she looked devastated.

“Oh. You found me.”

“This isn’t a game of hide and seek,” I snapped, pulling her out from between his polished black boots. “I was worried about you.” I bent down and pulled her into my arms. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. This place is amazing. They’ve been singing all my favourite songs, and they’ve shown me how to work handcuffs and—“

“You’ve got a nerve, waltzing in here as if it were no big deal to abandon a kid.”

I straightened up, and found myself looking straight into the eyes of a police woman who was in desperate need of an eyebrow pluck. “When we picked her up she was wet through. Not even a coat on her!”

“That’s because it’s been warm all day. I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“She told us her Mum had rushed into a pharmacy because she needed chocolate.”

“But the chocolate was for her!”

Ivy took the bag from me and pulled out a multicoloured bar. “Wow, thanks Mum,” she said, peering at it. ‘Fruit flavoured condoms,’ she read out, hesitantly. Is this a new kind of chocolate?”

“Give me that,” I said, grabbing the box of condoms out of her hands. “That’s a mistake. There’ll be a chocolate bar in here somewhere.” But when I searched through my haul, there were only boxes of flavoured, lubricated and rainbow coloured condoms. The police woman was giving me a very dirty look. “I can explain. My migraine was making it impossible to see, and—“

“I’ve read about people like you,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “Sex addicts who’ll do anything, risk anything, to get their fix. What were you thinking? Leaving the keys in the ignition. What if she’d released the parking brake and the car had rolled out into the road? Did you think of that, when you ran off to buy contraceptives? What were you going to do next, leave her outside a bar while you trawled it for a one night stand?”

I started to laugh. “If you knew anything about me, you’d know that the idea of me being a sex addict is just plain ridiculous.”

“You know what I think?” she said, this time in a more sympathetic voice. “I think this is a cry for help. I’ve been a member of AA for seven years, and I know an addict when I see one.”

“Look,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I know what I did was irresponsible, but it’ll never happen again, and now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get my daughter home.”

“Well, all right,” she said, handing me my car keys. “I won’t press any charges, on the condition you contact your local Sex Addicts Anonymous as soon as you get home.”

“Fine, I’ll do that,” I said, grabbing the keys from her.

“Do we have to go?” Ivy whined.

“Yes, I’m afraid we do.”

As I slunk out of the police station, I was full of remorse. I was a terrible mother, the worst.

Once we were driving home, Ivy started kicking my seat again. After everything that had happened, I didn’t dare tell her off.

“I want you to know that I still love you Mummy,” she said, “even though you abandoned me.”

“Thank you,” I said, bursting into tears.

Searching for Sachiko

2007-12-06T16:12:00.000-08:00

This evening, I was in the kitchen, hastily assembling some carpaccio and radish canapés for Mia, Imogen and Malc, who were spread out in my living room. I’d been planning to watch Genderblast, which was about to air on Channel Four, with just Tanya, but since they’d invited themselves in ten minutes ago, there wasn’t a lot I could do about it.

“Fine,” I said. “But anyone who asks about Gavin will be out on their ear.” So far none of them had dared broach the subject, although I could tell they were dying to.

I crunched on a radish. Alistair was out, at a business dinner, or so he said. Constanza was out too. It crossed my mind that maybe he wasn’t at the dinner at all. That maybe he was out with her. If that was the case, then so be it, I thought resignedly, carrying the tray into the living room and setting it down on a priceless art deco table.

“Ooh, yummy,” said Imogen, grabbing a canapé. She was sitting beside Mia on my nineteenth century red velvet sofa. Malc was perched on the arm of the sofa, wearing white leather trousers and a massive sulk. Tanya was there in person, but she wasn’t really there. She was holding her mobile in both hands, willing it to ring. It was official. Sachiko was in London on a Prada shoot and Tanya had informed her five hundred closest friends to phone her as soon as they got a sighting.

As the trumpets of the intro tune on the huge plasma-screen TV faded, Helenka appeared, beaming away in a low cut peach coloured top.

“I don’t think she should be exposing that much flesh,” said Malc. ”Her cleavage is too crepey, for one thing, and there’s little blue veins on her boobs. Ugh!”

“I thought you were her greatest fan,” said Imogen.

“Well, I was, back when she was young and firm on celluloid. But when I got up close, it wasn’t so pretty.”

“He’s just mad because before the cameras started rolling, she was acting like he was something the cat dragged in.”

“Oh for God’s sake, can we just watch the thing?” said Mia, nervously twisting her hair.

“Actually Scarlett, Malc’s got a point,” said Imogen, willowy in a pale pink dress and matching cardigan. “Helenka’s gone for the whole menopausal Pam Anderson look, but she would be better off covering up a bit. I’m thinking, classic suits, sort of Princess Caroline of Monaco. I’m thinking chignons, not cutesy ponytails. It’s so mutton dressed as lamb.” She turned to me. “Maybe you could mention it when you see her again.”

“I very much doubt Helenka even remembers Scarlett’s name,” snorted Malc.

“If you must know, she gave me her card.”

“Silence, you lot,” snapped Mia.

“I can’t look, I can’t,” Malc said, suddenly self-conscious, putting his hands in front of his face.

Then he told a gag on TV, and the audience laughed. He opened his fingers a crack and peered out.

I wasn’t too interested, since I’d seen the whole thing once all ready, but Mia appeared mesmerized. At the end of his slot, she said, “Wow Malc, incredible comic timing.”

“I don’t know about that,” Malc pouted. “All I know is that they put on way too much mascara.”

An hour later, they were still there. They’d helped themselves to beers from the fridge and heated up some leftover Chinese take-away and were walking around with plates full of greasy food, trailing rice wherever they went. Which was not okay.

“Will everyone please sit down when they eat,” I said, trying not to raise my voice. “And make sure they pick up any bits of dropped rice!”

None of them were listening, there was rice everywhere, and I was getting more and more fraught, when Tanya’s mobile trilled. After screaming that a mate of hers had spotted Sachiko at a club called Gold Rush, she raced out the door.

Now, after they’d demolished some ice cream Imogen had discovered while rooting through my freezer, they were still lolling about, while I scrambled on the floor with my mini vac, vacuuming up every last grain of rice. I was just beginning to hope that someone would mention Gavin, so that I’d have a legitimate reason to eject them, when the doorbell went.

I discovered a red eyed Tanya on my doorstep, who raced past me into the living room.

“What happened?” I said, running after her.

Throwing herself down on the sofa, she started rubbing her eyes. “Well, I was looking all over the club for Sachiko, and was almost at the point of giving up. Then, by an amazing stroke of luck, I was standing in the queue for the Ladies when Sachiko came out of a cubicle and started washing her hands. So naturally, I sidled over and touched her arm, and very politely said, ‘You don’t know me, but I think that if you hear me out, you’ll be glad you did.’ Then I gave a brilliant spiel, all about how she was perfect for Fondantdew. It was Oscar worthy. It was bloody unbelievable.”

“Good for you. So it’s in the bag?” said Mia.

“Well, I thought so. She was looking at me like she was mesmerized. Then she took this little can out of her handbag and maced me.”

“Serves you right,” said Malc, shaking his head. “You don’t just go up and touch a supermodel like that.”

“Thanks so much for your support,” said Tanya, jumping up and running off to the bathroom.

I got up, about to follow. “You could try and be a little more understanding,” I said to Malc. “This is a big deal to Tanya. I think she and I need to be alone right now, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” said Mia.

“But I’m still hungry,” said Malc.

In the bathroom, Tanya had her head bent over the sink and was splashing water on her face. She looked up at me. “I’ve totally blown it.”

“No you haven’t,” I lied. “I’ll get you a Toblerone to cheer you up. I think there’s one in the fridge.”

But as I walked through the living room, I noticed there was a silver Toblerone wrapper where Malc had been sitting. He’d obviously scoffed it. Still, at least they’d all pushed off, which was the main thing.

Later, once Tanya had gone home, I lay in bed, trying to sleep. Eventually, I heard someone open the front door and pass my bedroom door. Constanza? Then, a few minutes later, Alistair let himself in, came into our bedroom and started undressing. Come on, couldn’t they do better than that? In they wanted to allay my suspicions, shouldn’t they have left a half hour interval, at the very least?

As Alistair got into bed, I reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Hi there. Did you have a good dinner?”

He nestled his head into the pillow. “Boring but necessary.”

Stroking the back of his neck, I said, “Do you want to do something as a family this weekend?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“What do you fancy?” My fingers continued to stroke.

Once I heard the faint beginnings of a snore, my hand dropped away.

I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about Alistair in some fancy hotel, in bed with Constanza.

And failing.

Wow Wow Wow

2007-12-03T15:53:00.000-08:00

At five thirty that evening, Malc was in the hot, sweaty green room of the Genderblast studio, waiting to be escorted to meet Helenka Smythe. He was all squirrelly beside me, excited about meeting a woman who, he claimed, was one of the greatest movie stars of her generation. Since I’d never watched any of her movies, Malc was giving me a run down of her filmography. His favourite was a cult seventies flick, The Island of Lost Women, in which a boatload of nubile babes wearing fur bikinis and platform boots, are stranded on an island and taken captive by a band of kilt-wearing Scottish pirates.

“There’s a fight sequence in it between the girls and the pirates, where everything’s filmed from a very low angle,” he said. “One of the greatest leg sequences of all time. In one shot, the camera is imbedded in the sand, and you can see right up their skirts.”

“Hang on. I thought the girls were in bikinis?”

“I’m talking about the pirates. I don’t usually go for guys in frocks, but some of those legs are just spectacular. Glistening with sweat and flecked with sand.”

“Sounds, um …” like a piece of crap, “…fascinating.”

Malc had been nervously chomping his way through the complementary bowl of Ferrero Rochers, and his hands were covered in chocolate. I was just cleaning his palms with an antibacterial wipe, when the door opened and a researcher bustled in and introduced himself as Gavin.

“Malc darling,” he said in a cockney accent, sitting down beside Malc and putting an arm round his shoulder. “We’re in a bit of a pickle. Our transsexual punk band Anal Lube have just cancelled on us, so it looks like your slot’ll be twenty minutes, rather than the allotted ten. That all right?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned towards me. “And you are?”

“I’m his PR,” I said, extending my hand towards Gavin. “Scarlett Staines.”

He held my gaze and I started to get an Ireallyreallyfancythisblokehelp! feeling, while I felt my head vibrate like I’d just been walloped with a hammer.

What happened just then? Did we just have a moment? I returned his gaze shyly, mesmerized by his particular brand of street wise charisma. He was all sharp cheekbones and stubble, dripping with a sticky sensuality.

“You look a bit pale, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re all right?” he said, as reality poked its head through my sex daze. With his bleach blond crop and camp demeanour, he was obviously a screaming queen.

“I’m fine,” I replied, feeling like a total berk.

“I’m just dying to meet Helenka,” Malc gushed.

“And so you shall, my dear, just as soon as we get you primped,” Gavin replied. Then, putting his hand on my shoulder, in a friendly gesture that shouldn’t have turned me on, but did, he propelled me out of the room.

“I’m sorry to say I’ve never heard of Helenka,” I said, as he led me down the shabby corridor, with Malc scurrying behind.

“Don’t be. Someone as young as you couldn’t be expected to remember the old bag’s terrible forays onto celluloid,” he said pointedly, which was obviously meant to be flattering, which was flattering, since he looked a good few years younger than me. “She acts the lady, but let me tell you, everything about Helenka, apart from her bosoms, is fake. For a start, the name. Smythe indeed! Smythe, my ass. She was born plain Helen Smith in Bradford. Lost the accent along the way, of course. Tries to talk posh, but as I always say, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. And between ourselves, she’s a right old bitch.”

“Helenka is not a bitch,” said Malc indignantly.

“You’ll see what I mean when you meet her,” Gavin said. We had come to a halt outside a pink door marked ‘Wardrobe.’ “Now then, Malc. Be a love and pop in here and let’s get you into some decent clothes.”

“Actually, I’d like him to keep that on,” I said, pointing to Malc’s t-shirt, which had Out of this World printed on it. “To advertise the agency.”

“Well, all right. Whatever you think’s best.” As he pulled a crumpled sheaf of papers out of the back pocket of his jeans, he exposed a rather tantalizing bit of back, which once again, got me in a bit of a tizzy.

His eyes drifted over my breasts, which were encased in a flimsy silk blouse. Actually, he stared at them rather longer than your average screaming queen might have. Most peculiar.

“Right now Scarlett,” he said, glancing over his papers. “I’ve read over this script you’ve written for your client.”

“Actually, it’s all my own work,” said Malc.

“Whatever. I’ve read through it and, well, it’s great. But remember Malc, if you do ad lib, keep it clean, in case they want to try and sell the program to the States. I think that horse joke will slip under the radar. What I need you to do for me now, is just pop down the hall to makeup, there’s a love.”

Once Malc had sloped off, Gavin said he’d take me through to meet Helenka if I liked, so I could see what a cow she really was. I giggled and said, all right then, and followed him through some doors and out onto the studio floor, which was enclosed by rows of seats which were rapidly filling up. We passed several TV cameras, until we were standing a few feet away from Helenka. She was sitting in one of those white sixties swivel chairs that look like a giant teacup that’s been sliced in half, and all I could see was the back of her head and a coppery ponytail, twitching about like the tail of a nervous horse. Over the murmurings of the audience, I could hear her shrieking, “What do you think you’re doing, you stupid girl?”

I have no idea who she was talking to.

“I’ve got to dash,” Gavin said. “Introduce yourself, if you dare.” He gave me a wink, before rushing off.

As I walked towards her, I could see that the girl she was abusing was on her knees, applying bronzer to her sizeable cleavage with a brush, while Helenka yelled, “No, no, that’s far too much. Wipe it off and start again.”

“Oh, hello there,” Helenka said, turning towards me. Her voice had a forced, theatrical quality. She had a mouth that was a little too wide and a nose that was a tad too crooked to make her conventionally beautiful, but what really struck me were her ice blue, otherwordly eyes, which were heavily outlined with black kohl. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re the spitting image of Mena Suvari?”

“Um, not that I recall,” I said, feeling flustered. Even though I’m nowhere near as beautiful as Mena, I couldn’t help but be flattered by the compliment. “Scarlett Staines, pleased to meet you.” It was awkward shaking hands over Alicia’s head, who was crouched down and sponging bronzer off her breasts.

“Well, Scarlett, I’m delighted to meet you. I expect you want an autograph, or are you a guest? I don’t know where I am half the time. That idiot Gavin never briefs me properly.”

“Actually, I’m here with a guest, Malc. He should be out of makeup at any moment.”

“Do take a seat,” she said, pointing to a chair that was a duplicate of her own. As I sank into it, she waved the make up girl away and leaned forward. Putting on a cashmere soft voice she said, “Look here sweetie, I don’t mean to pry, but you seem awfully down. You’re aura’s dark and look, I think I might be able to help. I don’t know if you’ve read about my psychic powers in the papers?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

She clutched my hand and closed her eyes. As I watched her double row of false eyelashes gently quivering, I began to feel afraid. “Wait,” she said. “This is so strange. I’m getting a transmission. I’m seeing someone. A child. A little blonde haired girl, walking away into the shadows. Yes, a girl is about to walk out of your life. Does that mean anything?” Her eyes flew open

“I do have a daughter, but she’s very much part of my life.”

“Look darling, do yourself a favour,” she said, pulling a card out of her handbag and pressing it into my hand. “Call me any time. I can clarify the future. These are troubling times for you, I can tell.”

Although the woman was clearly nuttier than a fruitcake, I couldn’t help wondering how she knew I had a daughter, and a blonde haired one at that. But before I could give the matter much further thought, Malc arrived, looking a bit of a state. They’d troweled on the foundation and overloaded his eyelashes with mascara.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Tori Spelling,” said Helenka, giving him the once over. Luckily, Malc was so thunderstruck, he didn’t hear the comment. He’d gone so peculiar over Helenka, that he’d curtsied, actually curtsied in front of her. I was embarrassed for him. I mean, honestly! He started rambling on about what an honour it was to meet her, and how he was shitting bricks at the prospect of appearing alongside such a megastar. At which point, Helenka stifled a yawn and told him he’d best pull himself together, since they needed to do a run through. She seemed much more interested in me, grabbing my hand and whispering “Ring me,” before I escaped across the studio floor and took my seat in the audience.

Tanya was on one side, Mia on the other, clutching Imogen’s hands and all fluttery with excitement. There was a lot of chatter around us, so I didn’t hear Malc do his run through. I hoped he’d be fine, I really did. But things didn’t look good. Helenka kept throwing her hands up, a look of exasperation on her face, as she gave him an ear full. Then calm would be restored for a few minutes, until she had another outburst.

I was getting more and more uncomfortable, sweltering away under the glare of the studio lights. Finally, after an interminably long wait, we were told to stop talking. The show was about to begin.

“So, darlings,” Helenka said to the audience. “We have this rather cute young man on tonight, Malc, who found love through the hippest gay dating agency in London. You may have heard of it, it’s called Out of This World, and it’s right here in Soho.” She leaned across and stroked Malc’s cheek. “He’s looking very glowy, because he’s just fallen in love.” She elongated the word love into a long purr.

The audience looked at a cue card and said “Aaaaah,” in unison, and Malc glanced up coyly, looking very much like he was in the first flush of love.

“Don’t be shy, darling. So, you met Mr Wonderful through Out of this World?”

This was going wonderfully. Another plug.

“Yes, he’s an absolute dreamboat. I am so glad I found him, because until I contacted the agency, I was the world’s worse commitmentphobic. And now look at me. We’re living together. After just two months!”

“Wow. I’ll have to take the number of that agency off you later. I haven’t exactly been too lucky in love recently.”

A guy at the front held up a cue card and the audience cooed, “Poor Helenka.”

Helenka leaned forward and put her hand over Malc’s. “Why do you think it took you so long to find the right guy?”

“Well I was always looking for The One. And I knew when I met The One, there’d be The Click.”

“The Click?”

“You know, your eyes meet for the first time and you’re overwhelmed by this tremendous rush of excitement.” Yes Malc, I know exactly what you mean, I thought. I just had a similar experience with a gay guy called Gavin. How weird was that? “If there wasn’t that va va voom in the first five minutes of meeting a guy, I was out of there.”

“Did you have any luck at all?”

“Oh yeah, I had tons of boyfriends. I was always falling for men I thought were deeply enigmatic, only to discover after a few weeks, or months, that they were about as complex as a piece of sponge cake. Then, once I’d decided I wanted to get rid of someone, I’d go in nice and easy with some soft fuzzy lines like, ‘I’m really not ready for a long term commitment with anyone at the moment’, or ‘Work’s too stressful right now for me to give you one hundred per cent, and I feel like you’re being short changed.’”

Helenka rolled her eyes. “Believe me doll, I can relate.”

“If that didn’t work, I’d take the critical route. Something like, ‘I usually date really toned guys and you’re a bit podgier than my average type, so I can’t really see this going anywhere long term.’”

“Ooh, you are naughty,” she said, giving a girlish giggle.

“If he was religious, I’d hone in on that. I’d be like, ‘You’re a Jew and I’m a Mormon. Did I not mention it? So really I’m looking for a relationship within my own faith.’”

A few laughs from the audience. Malc smirked. It looked like he was beginning to enjoy himself.

“But some of them still clung on? Like dying men clutching onto a sinking ship?”

Malc nodded, then turned to the audience with a boyish grin. “Want to know a line that’ll end any relationship in ten seconds flat?”

Nervous titters from the audience.

“Just say to the guy, ‘I’ve always wanted to have a threesome,” (pause, he waited for anticipation to rise in the audience. There were some giggles, he waited a beat), “with a horse.”

The audience exploded.

“I’d follow that up with, ‘Do you fancy going to the country this weekend, and making my fantasy reality?’” Malc shook his head, like he was deeply ashamed of the way he’d treated those poor guys. “Believe me, it works a treat.”

Helenka looked unconvinced. “I’ll make a note of that. So, what happened? Since your dating life was such a disaster, you decided you needed professional help?”

“Absolutely. When I went for my first interview at Out of this World, I told my matchmaker, Mia, that I didn’t have time to waste. That I knew the kind of man I wanted and needed her to find him for me. “What I’m looking for,” I told her, “is a guy who’s over six foot, with great abs, very white teeth, a brilliant sense of humour, who hates pets, and who doesn’t have thick curly hair.’ To which she replied, ‘I hear you, but I have this little five foot six guy on my books I just know you’re going to love.’

“Well, as you can imagine, I wasn’t too keen. My first question was, ‘What kind of hair has he got?’ I was particular about this, because my last boyfriend was always blocking up my plug with his curly black hair, not to mention shedding all over the bed. It was worse than having a dog. But Mia wouldn’t specify his hair type, she simply insisted I go on a date with, well, let’s just pretend his name is Adam.”

We would have to pretend, because Malc hadn’t had a date in months.

“So grudgingly, I agreed to go on a date with him. I knew that if we didn’t click in the first few minutes, he was toast.”

“So, what happened? Did you click?” Helenka asked, wide eyed with anticipation.

“I most certainly did not. We arranged to meet in a seafood restaurant, and the first thing I noticed when I got to his table, was that his hair was identical to that plug-blocking guy I’d ended up loathing. I think I could just about have overlooked the height factor, if everything else had been perfect. But everything else was not perfect. He had the hair, for God’s sake! And as we talked, it became abundantly clear that there was going to be no click, not even a faint one. I picked at my lobster and wondered how soon I could get out of there.”

The audience was silent with anticipation. Malc had them in the palm of his hand.

“But after a few glasses of wine, I was surprised to find I was quite enjoying myself. I kept telling myself that it was really such a shame that there had been no click, because he was really quite amusing, and the way he ate his oysters was quite a turn on.”

Nervous laughter from the audience.

“At the end of the night, we were standing outside the restaurant saying our farewells, when Adam started to look a bit peaky. He said that his stomach felt like it was on a spin cycle and that maybe there’d been something wrong with the oysters. Since I lived nearby, I suggested he come and lie down in my apartment until he felt better. As soon as we got inside, he rushed into the bathroom and started to retch.

“So I followed him in and asked him if he was all right, which was a bit of a stupid question, given the circumstances. And as I saw him puking into my toilet, I reached out and pulled back his hair, this shoulder length curly hair. And suddenly I caught myself thinking, What beautiful hair. He turned to me and said, ‘I’m fine, really. I think it’s all out now.’ And as he spoke he spewed all over my new Patrick Cox loafers.”

The audience erupted with laughter. Malc turned towards them, soaking up the attention.

“And guess what?” he said, addressing them. “I found I didn’t care. Because at that moment, I fell in love. For the first time, ever.”

“Wow,” said Helenka, shaking her head. “It gives us all hope, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does. Since then I’ve even quit my old job and started working at the agency.” There was some truth to that. Malc had tried for years to make a living as a conceptual artist. Tanya and I used to go to his shows, held in disused warehouses, where we’d stand around drinking wine that tasted like paint stripper. I remember one of his installation pieces, entitled ‘Civil War’, which was a light bulb screwed into the side of a television set. I must admit, I never really got it. For years Malc dreamt of meeting a tall dark handsome collector, who would declare him a genius, buy all his artworks and promote him, but when it became clear that was never going to happen, Mia took pity on him and offered him a job. He was just as bad at working at the agency as he had been creating art, but at least it earned him a paycheck.

“This agency changed my life.” He looked direct to camera. “It could change yours too. Out of This World. Give them a bell.” Okay, so maybe he was laying it on a bit thick. He looked like a crazed televangelist. But what the heck, the audience evidently adored him. And from the ecstatic look on Helenka’s face, you’d think she loved him too. The two of them continued larking about and making the audience hoot with laughter, until Helenka finally wound things up.

As Malc exited to rousing applause, Mia gushed, “Wow, that was amazing,” while on the other side of me, Tanya whispered, “Well, that wasn’t a total pile of garbage.” I had to admit that, amazingly enough, Malc had pulled it off.

I sat through a couple more interviews, some hot shot director and a woman who sculpted giant vaginas, until I started to get anxious. Maybe I should check up on Malc. It wasn’t inconceivable that he might, at this very moment be insulting some poor unfortunate who he didn’t deign good looking enough to invade his personal space.

As I crept backstage and opened the door to the green room, I nearly got trampled by a drag queen version of The Supremes who were on their way to do a final number on the show. In the corner of the room sat a weary looking Malc. Good, at least he wasn’t in the middle of a row. In fact I’d never seen him look so lacklustre. He barely looked up as I sat beside him on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” I said, putting my arm round his shoulders and giving him a squeeze.” No reply. He was staring down at his hands, which were trembling. “I expect meeting Helenka was overwhelming, wasn’t it? But wow, Malc, you really knocked them dead out there.” I continued to fawn over him, without generating the slightest response, until finally someone burst in the room. My heart did a little jump as I realized it was Gavin.

“What can I say?” Gavin said, rushing over to Malc. “You were brilliant.”

Malc came out of his catatonic state, smiled and said, “Do you really think so?”

“Sure I do.” Then, swivelling towards me, he said, “The show’s just wrapped. Any chance of you coming out for a drink?”

Malc jumped up, exclaiming, “Absolutely!” From the ecstatic look on his face, it was clear that I wasn’t the only one with a huge crush on Gavin.

“Great,” Gavin said, although he looked none too pleased.

Sitting down beside me, he said softly, “What about you? Are you up for it?”

His thigh was pressed against mine, which actually made it quite hard to think, and the intense way his green eyes were assessing me was almost, well, predatory. I found myself wishing that Malc would just disappear and leave us alone, until it dawned on me just how irrational that thought actually was, given the context that Gavin was gay.

Anxious to regain control over my emotions, I stood up abruptly. That was a bit better. Now my thigh was no longer in contact with Gavin’s, I could think a bit more clearly. Gavin was simply suggesting a friendly drink, I told myself sharply, and it would do no harm to go along.

“That would be great,” I said, “but I need to go get my friends in the audience first.”

“Fabulous,” he said, putting his palm in the small of my back and propelling me out the door. We didn’t get far down the corridor, however, because a group of young women were clustered outside Helenka’s dressing room. One of them was rapping rather insistently on her dressing room door.

“Jesus,” muttered Malc. “It’s like flipping Piccadilly Circus around here. Do you mind getting out of my way? Yes, I’m talking to you, young lady,” he said to a rotund girl who was sitting on the floor, staring at a photo of Helenka. “Can you move your substantial backside to one side so we can get past?” The girl looked up at him blankly.

“Groupies,” Gavin whispered, as we manoeuvred our way through the throng.

“Really?” I said, wide-eyed. “You mean, she sleeps with them?”

“Who knows? She claims she just invites them in for tea.”

“Afternoon tea, at this time of night?”

“I know, it does sound a bit weird, doesn’t it? But then, Helenka is a bit weird, as you’ve probably noticed.”

Helenka’s door creaked open and she popped her head out. “Will somebody get rid of these girls. I’m not up to seeing anyone today,” she bellowed, in a most unladylike manner. Then, spying me, her voice turned saccharine light. “Ah, Scarlett, fancy coming in for a cup of tea? I’d really like to talk to you more about your aura, darling.”

“Sorry, not tonight,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ve got plans.”

“Oh sweetheart, please don’t tell me you’ve been falling for Helenka’s hocus pocus,” Gavin said, as we slipped through a door and into the audience. “It’s so put on.”

Was it? I wasn’t at all sure. I was still thinking about Helenka’s ominous prediction, while Mia, Imogen and Tanya surrounded us and started congratulating Malc on his performance. They needn’t have bothered. Malc was too busy ogling Gavin to take any of it in.

Since the Genderblast studio was in Soho’s Greek Street, Gavin insisted we go round the corner to The Dog and Duck. Once inside its cramped, noisy confines, I couldn’t really relax, because I kept thinking I’d suddenly see Connor somewhere in the crowded pub, indulging in sausage and mash and a solitary pint.

I nursed a glass of white wine while I earwigged in to Malc’s one sided conversation with Gavin. He was deep into his favourite topic, about how no one understood what a genius he was, and that after he died he’d finally be recognized as one of the greatest artists of all time. Gavin looked thoroughly bored.

I was feeling pretty tired. The day had been way too stressful, and I was hoping I’d be able to relieve some of that stress by running home and giving my copper pans a thorough polish. Leaning over to Gavin I said, “Sorry to interrupt, but I think I’m going to head off.”

He looked perplexed. “But it’s still early.” Early indeed! It was a quarter past eleven. He rested his hand on my arm, causing a rush of excitement to jolt through me. “I was thinking of heading down to Club Mink later.”

“Oh, I go there all the time,” gushed Malc. “It’s fabulous.”

“Do you really?” said Gavin. “Then it’s strange that I don’t remember seeing you there, isn’t it? Because, let’s face it, your face is rather unforgettable.”

Tanya snorted with laughter, but Malc lit up, thinking he’d been paid a compliment. Gavin caught my eye and we shared the joke.

“Anyone else want to come?”

Mia and Imogen said they were heading home, but Tanya was keen.

“Count me out too,” I said. “This is way too late for me. Seriously.”

Gavin grabbed my hand. “Don’t be a kill joy. You’ve got to come.”

“Sorry, but I have to meet this client for a nine am meeting. I’ve really got to get a good night’s sleep,” I said, meaning it as I said it. So why did I have this unbelievable urge to go clubbing, an urge I hadn’t had in at least six years, with one of the hottest gay guys on the planet? And I didn’t mean Malc.

In the end Gavin was too persuasive. We took a taxi to Club Mink, and while Gavin hit the bar, Tanya and I dashed over to nab a free table. Malc came trailing over and slipped in beside me.

The table was illuminated with red light, casting Malc’s face into deep shadows and giving him satanic vibe.

“Gavin’s gay, or hadn’t you noticed?” he snarled. “So you needn’t waste any more of your time flirting with him.”

“Calm down Malc,” said Tanya, who, under the red lights, looked like an evil cherub. “I don’t think Scarlett’s flirting with him, she’s just being friendly.”

“No I won’t calm down. I think I’ve got a really good chance and Scarlett’s totally blowing it for me by monopolizing his attention.”

“You really are an old misery guts, do you know that?” said Tanya. “You should be enjoying your moment of glory. You were bloody good on that show. You did hear everyone laughing their heads off, didn’t you?”

“What good are laughs? I want love. Or if not love, then at least a decent shag.”

One nano-second later, he was beaming, as Gavin wedged himself between Malc and me and handed round the drinks.

“Okay Gavin, dish it,” said Tanya. “Has Helenka had work done on her face?”

“Oh yeah. I know for a fact that she’s had at least a couple of face lifts. Still, she looks pretty good for a broad who’ll never see fifty again.”

“Crikey,” said Tanya, sipping her cocktail. “I didn’t realize she was that ancient. What I don’t get about her is when she turned gay. I mean, wasn’t she living with that arms dealer, Donny Doherty, during the eighties?”

“Yeah she was, up until he went to prison, anyway. I’m not sure why she switched sides, but switch she did, some time in the mid nineties. Now she’s got quite a following, although it’s a bit of a puzzle what it is that makes all the girls go ga ga over her.”

“Oh, it’s not just girls, Malc’s got quite a thing for her too,” I said, while Gavin gave me a look that made me feel like he’d just peeled off my blouse and trousers and was going to do something totally obscene to me.

I hurried Tanya into the Ladies.

“Look, maybe I’m way off beam here, but is there any possibility that Gavin is, you know, straight? I can’t be sure, but I think he’s giving me the come on.”

“Hardly. The guy’s as bent as a six bob note.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I always am. All the sexiest ones are gay. Sod’s law, or something.”

Okay, so Gavin was attracted to men, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun, did it? Since there was no danger in flirting like mad with a gay guy, I decided there’d be no harm in asking him to join me on the dance floor. He was an incredibly good dancer and kept doing this grindy thing with his hips that was totally fluid, and, oh yeah, made me feel insanely horny.

As the night wore on and more and more drinks were consumed, it was pretty hard to enjoy myself, because every time I turned around, Malc’s horse face glared back at me. Tanya had managed to pick up a John Travolta in Grease clone, with a big quiff and a frantic line in dance steps. His shirt had come undone and he had a smoking body on him, so I wasn’t all that surprised when Tanya whispered in my ear that she was heading back to his place.

At the end of the night, the three of us left together, and walked down a dimly lit alley somewhere in King’s Cross, until we got to the main road. Malc wanted to share a cab, but since Gavin lived near me, in Muswell Hill, and Malc’s pad was all the way down in Croydon, Gavin decreed it would be more cost effective if Malc made his own way home.

Once Malc had got in his cab and I was left with Gavin, my stomach started churning with nerves. Fears sprang up like mushrooms. What was I doing? Who was this man I hardly knew? And why had I gone along with the idea of sharing a cab? Anything could happen in a cab. Anything.

While we were waiting for a cab to go past, I kept up a steady stream of nervous chatter.

“I think Malc really likes you. I guess he isn’t your type?”

He gave a little smile. “Well, of course he isn’t. I mean, the guy looks like a horse.”

“He does not.” I caught his eye and started to laugh. “Well, maybe a bit.”

“Why was he coming onto me anyway? I thought he’d found Mr Right through that agency.”

“Well no, actually that story was a little bit embellished.”

“You mean, made up?”

“Um, yeah. Malc’s actually single. Are you angry we weren’t straight with you?”

“Not at all. It was a very believable act. I’m more pissed about the way he kept trying to flirt with me although I made it obvious I wasn’t the slightest bit interested.”

A tense silence closed over us. I was thinking that the sooner a blasted cab came along and the sooner I could get home, the better, although by now I was way too weary to even consider polishing my copper pans.

At last, much to my relief, a taxi rolled up and we got in.

To be honest, I was a little perplexed at why he didn’t exactly keep to his half of the seat. His thigh was pressed up close to mine and he’d slightly angled his body round so that his shoulder and part of his chest brushed against me. Which was fine, it really was, if a little unconventional. It just made it very difficult to think about anything but kissing him, of pulling his t-shirt up and running my hands all over his chest, before bending down and running my tongue over his stomach.

Licking his stomach indeed! Help me God, I prayed, I’m losing it. I had to get home, had to. I’d take a cold shower. Slip into bed. Sleep. Tomorrow I’d look back on this night as an aberration.

Because he didn’t seem like he was going to break this interminable silence, I plunged in with, “So what kind of guys do you go for?”

He was quiet for a moment. Eventually he said, “The kind who have breasts. They’re known as women.”

“Oh,” I said, as a volcano of pleasure exploded in the pit of my stomach. “But I thought—”

“I know what you thought. Can’t say I blame you.”

So he wasn’t gay? So the signals he’d been giving me were all leading up to … to what? Now that his matter of sexual preference had been cleared up, it looked like we were headed in the direction of a night of hot, craven, passionate, meaningless sex. Was that what I wanted? Yes, oh please, yes. Did that mean I was going to cave in to my desires? It most certainly did not.

His face edged closer. I could feel his breath on my neck. His arm snaked round my shoulder.

I could stop him at any time. All I had to do was say something. I mean, just because I’d given myself the green light to forge ahead with Connor, did not mean I could hop in the sack with any Tom, Dick or Gavin.

I wondered whether this was a good time to mention that I was married. Maybe not, I thought, as Gavin’s lips met mine.

*******************************

We ended up at his crumbling old apartment block. The stairs creaked as we stumbled up them, kissing against walls, fumbling against banisters. All the way up five flights of stairs. Until we reached the door of his apartment and I suddenly realized I wasn’t as brave as I thought.

“I can’t do this,” I said, clenching my hand.

He lifted up my fist, and bit my knuckle in a way that made me ache for him to stop but also made me want him to bite harder. I pulled my hand away.

“Look, I’m married.”

“I guessed that much.”

“How on earth? I mean, I don’t wear a ring. I have one of course, but it’s so valuable I feel too nervous to wear it. I keep it in a safe.”

“Or maybe you do it because, subconsciously, you’d quite like an affair.”

He turned away and put his key in the lock.

“It’s not really a question of what I’d quite like,” I said, getting quite angry. “I have a daughter, responsibilities.”

“Look, why don’t you come in and have a drink? It might calm you down.”

“I don’t need to calm down,” I said.

I followed him in, because I didn’t want to leave, I suppose. We stood side by side in his bright yellow kitchen, and he handed me a gin and tonic.

“I should call a taxi.”

“I’d like you to stay the night. I mean, I won’t try and have sex with you, if you don’t want me to. Does that sound crazy?”

“Yes.” But I knew I was going to stay anyway.

We went through to the bedroom. The walls were painted white. One wall was taken up with a huge glass case full of toy robots.

“Robots? Isn’t that a kid’s thing?”

He looked a bit irritated. Me and my big mouth.

“Where’d you get that?” I said, pointing to a sign hanging over his bed, which was messy and covered in comics. The mess should have made me feel all agitated, like it did back home, but it didn’t.

“Like it?” he said, bending down to switch it on. PEEPSHOW flashed off and, off and on in neon pink. I found the sign insanely sexy.

“Is this it?” I said incredulously, gesturing around the room. He nodded. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall. I share it with some of the other tenants. Not bad for a hundred quid a week, eh?”

“Gavin, how old are you?” I said, sitting down on the bed.

“Twenty eight.”

“Twenty eight and renting two rooms? You’ve come a long way baby.”

Getting up, I walked over to the window, lifted the tattered bamboo blind and peered out. The dawn was already settling softly on the red brick houses opposite.

He came up behind me and kissed me on the back of my neck, then reached under my blouse and pushed his hands under my bra.

A little sigh escaped my lip. My knees were buckling. I sank down on the floor and he rolled on top of me. Abruptly, I sat up and ran my hand through my hair.

“Okay look, let’s just talk, all right?”

“Sure,” he said, with barely controlled amusement.

We got up and sat down side by side on the bed. I picked up a Japanese comic book, featuring scantily clad girls with big doe eyes.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You read this just for the stories?”

“You think I’m a bit dense, don’t you?” he said, smiling.

“No,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t actually given the matter of Gavin’s intellectual capacities any thought.

He reached over and picked up the comic. “For your information I do speak Japanese. I worked on a game show in Tokyo for three years.”

“You studied Japanese?”

“Not studied no, I just picked it up. I was told I have a pretty good accent. Sometimes after talking to a contestant over the phone they’d meet me in the flesh and be surprised I wasn’t Japanese.”

“Really? I would have thought the name Gavin would have given it away.” What was the matter with me? I couldn’t manage to say anything nice. I suppose it was because I felt so frustrated. I was not going to cheat on Alistair with Gavin. Unlike Connor, he was a totally unknown quantity. “So, Tokyo, wow, where else have you worked?”

“Just Melbourne, Sydney, Seattle, Chicago, oh, and Boston.”

“Right. Kind of puts my stupid little life in perspective, doesn’t it?”

“You do PR?”

“Yeah, if you must know, I’m the publicist for Flowerette Incontinence Pants.” He was about to say something, probably make some really puerile joke, so I leaned over and lightly kissed his lips.

“I think that’s enough talk for now. I need to get some sleep.”

I took off my clothes, leaving on my underwear, and pulled the duvet up. I didn’t think I’d sleep at all because the PEEPSHOW sign was still flashing. But I did.

When I woke up, sun was streaming through the bamboo blind and I felt very calm.

He was lying beside me, looking at me.

“Hi.”

“Oh hi,” I said, blinking in the sunlight. “My head’s killing me. Do you have any coffee?”

“No, but I might have some tea. I’ll go look.”

I lay there in his bed, my limbs all luxurious and drowsy, while I watched Gavin stretch and wander off to the kitchen, wearing just his boxers. I hadn’t done anything wrong, I told myself, just kissed some boy who was into toy robots. By this evening I’d have forgotten all about him.

He brought me my tea and I sat up in my bra and sipped it. It tasted delicious. It was obviously some weird new fashionable mix like fennel and hibiscus. And there were things floating around in it. Lemongrass, maybe? I was no tea expert. I’d always been a hardcore coffee addict.

“Nice tea,” I said.

“Actually, it’s prawn flavoured ramen noodles. It’s all I had in the cupboard.”

“Right,” I said, laughing nervously. He made me feel so un-hip. I didn’t like that about him. As I drank the noodles and sank back into the pillow, reality seemed as far away as the moon. Alistair. Ivy. Work. Work! My meeting with Brian Mulhoon.

I bounded out of bed and started gathering up my clothes.

“Look, you don’t fancy a shower do you? You and me and a bar of soap?”

Yes I did. He didn’t know how much. But if I got into a shower with him, well, it was pretty much a given that I’d never make my meeting.

So I insisted we showered separately, before catching a taxi in together.

Sitting beside Gavin on the ride to work, there was an ease between us. It felt like we could have spent the whole ride just leaning towards each other, not saying a thing, but in the end, my inquisitive nature got the better of me.

“So, listen, I’ve got to know. What’s the deal with work? You seemed a lot more camp at the studio. Does everyone think you’re gay?”

“Yeah, well, actually that’s my own fault. It sort of slipped out that I was gay in the interview. I’d just got back from Australia and was desperate for cash. And I just sensed I’d have the edge if I just went with the whole gay thing.”

“Must be a bit of a strain, putting on an act all the time?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Like today, I’d like to go in and tell everyone about this really sexy girl I met last night. But of course, I can’t,” he said sadly. “Look, I’m not going to pressure you into giving me your number. But if you ever feel like getting together, ring me at work.”

That wasn’t exactly likely, now was it? I’d had my moment of insanity and now it was back to my nice boring marriage and my nice boring life. If I was going to cheat, it was going to be with Connor. That’s just the way it had to be. I sighed.

After we’d exited the cab outside my office, Gavin gave me a kiss and squeezed my hand, before going on his way. Seconds later, I’d just gone through the swing doors, when I noticed that Connor was right behind me. Shit. He must have seen everything.

We ended up side by side in the lobby, waiting for the lift.

“Nice morning for it?” he ventured.

I knew what it looked like. Like I’d blown off Connor’s sausage and mash in The Dog and Duck for a bout of heavy shagging with Gavin.

“Well, a nice morning for lounging around in bed, reading the papers, eating warm toast. Not a nice morning for a meeting with Brian about incontinence pants.”

At last the lift arrived. We got in and headed for the fourth floor.

“He keeps sending me these free samples. I don’t really want to throw them away, but what am I meant to do with them? I was thinking of sending them to my mother in Florida. She probably knows loads of old birds who’d find a use for them.”

“Count yourself lucky. I’ve got three boxes of Villorex blocking up my bathroom.”

“That is bad.”

And suddenly the awkwardness was gone, and we both broke into giggles.

We came out of the lift and turned left down the corridor. When we got to my office door he said, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Oh, you mean Gavin?” I said casually. “He’s just a friend. Catch you later.”

I scrambled into my office and snapped open my hand mirror. My skin looked grey, but my eyes glowed with happiness. As I remembered kissing Gavin on the stairway of his apartment block, a bolt of lust shot through me. Just forget about him, I told myself firmly, before opening the door and heading down the corridor to the boardroom.

At the end of an excruciating two hours with Brian, in which we discussed promotional ideas for the Ultraguard, I managed to convince him not to send me any more pants.

I was slumped on my desk, my eyelids heavy with tiredness, when Tanya rang.

“Quite a night, huh? Wow. That Gavin is hot with a capital H, isn’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

“Hilarious, absolutely priceless, the way Malc was trailing him all night.”

“Yeah, Gavin didn’t fancy him at all. Poor old Malc.”

“Look, the reason I called was that I think I know what you can do with all those incontinence pants Brian keeps sending you.”

“Yes?”

“Sex shops.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, I just saw it on the Internet. Sex shops sell diapers for blokes who want to be adult babies. What do you think?”

“You’re a genius.” At least that was one problem solved. I’d drop them off at my local sex shop, as soon as I got a moment. “So, how’d your night go? That guy you went home with looked pretty sexy.”

“Strictly a one-nighter. Even though he spoke four languages, he wasn’t all that stimulating, once we got back to his pad. He was trying to woo me in Hungarian, but it got old very fast, let me tell you. The only way to shut him up was to gently lead his rapidly moving tongue to a place it would be a lot more useful.”

“You don’t mean—“ Sometimes Tanya’s audacity left me speechless.

“Well, what else was I meant to do to shut him up? And let me tell you, he was a very talented cunnilinguist. As he was lapping away, I kept wondering if there was a Ph.D in there somewhere. Something along the lines of whether cunning linguists always make good cunnilinguists? Do you think I should go back to college and find out?”

I giggled. “I don’t know about that. You jacked in your degree in fashion design after four months, didn’t you?”

“True, but that’s because I wasn’t inspired by the course. This is different. I really wouldn’t mind conducting this kind of research. Now, who do we know that speaks foreign languages?”

“Gavin speaks pretty good Japanese.”

“Oh really? I could test my theory out on him. No, bugger it, he’s gay.”

“Actually, he isn’t.” Shit. That was a mistake.

“Oh? And how would you know?”

I chewed the corner of my nail, something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager. I didn’t really want to tell her about Gavin, because I was basically trying to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened. But at the same time, I was dying to tell someone.

“How do you think?”

She gave a horrified gasp. “You mean you road tested him?”

“Yeah, well, I kind of did.”

“I think I’m going to faint. You slept with him? You slept with Gavin?”

“Not exactly. We did share a bed, but—“

“Oh God, Scarlett. This is amazing. So?”

“What?”

“So, details. Like, is he a brilliant cunnilinguist?”

“Will you shut about that. I don’t know, because we didn’t do anything but kiss.”

“Right. And I’m Demi Moore.”

“Look Tanya, we’ll talk later. I’ve got to dash. A huge chunk of rainforest has just walked through the door.”

I couldn’t believe this abundant display could be from Gavin. Apart from anything else, I was pretty sure he didn’t have the cash to pay for this tangle of orchids and exotic palms.

The man carrying the flowers plonked them down and handed me a tiny envelope. When I pulled out the card I read,

Thank you so much. Can’t wait to watch the show on Thursday. I hope we get squillions of new clients thanks to you (and Malc of course!)

Mia xxx

Which was a bit of an anticlimax. Connor passed my window and stared at the flowers. I thought I detected a twinge of jealousy, but that may have been entirely in my head, seeing as I’d had about two hours sleep and was beginning to hallucinate. The smell of the flowers was actually giving me a headache, and my eyeballs felt gritty and sore, but somehow I got through the day.

Just as I was leaving, Mia phoned. After I’d thanked her for the flowers she replied, “My pleasure. I had to call you, now that Malc’s finally pushed off home. God, that guy is a pain.”

“What’s he done now?”

“He claims you went home with that Gavin bloke. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“Why’d he think that?”

“God knows. Said you two seemed very keen to be rid of him at the end of the night. I told him that he he’d got the wrong end of the stick, that you wouldn’t cheat on Alistair in a million years. But you know Malc, he always expects the worst from people.”

“Actually,” I said in a tiny voice. “I did go home with him.”

“Oh?”

“Come on Mia. What’s the big deal? It was just a snog and I’m never going to see him again.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? This is so not like you Scarlett.”

“I know,” I said, wondering what on earth had got into me. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Although by the evening, my mood had made an about-face. Lying next to Alistair in bed, I began to feel appallingly, awfully guilty about the whole business. But the guilt had an upside, in that when I made love to Alistair that night, it was frantic and heated. I even managed to pull off my first real orgasm in a very long time.

What do you all make of that then!! I’m too confused to make head or tale of it.

All I know is it was GOOD. I mean, how can something that feels that good be bad, you know?

I Did It!!!!

2007-12-03T15:52:00.000-08:00

This morning, I was waiting at a red light, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel and listening to a rather lacklustre Curly Mackaw Show. He kept apologizing for any unintentional offence he’d caused haemorrhoid sufferers through his competition, which had now been cancelled. Clearly, Connor had made him issue the apologies, and now that tiny patch of bad publicity for Villorex was over, I hoped that maybe Connor would finally start showing an interest in something non-haemorrhoid related, like me.

I grabbed my ringing mobile.

“Hi,” Mia said breathlessly. “Look, there’s been a change of plan. Genderblast have decided they want to tape Malc tonight at seven.”

“What?”

As the light turned green, my foot hit the accelerator hard, and I almost careened into the minivan in front of me. I braked just in time.

“But it’s too soon. He won’t be ready,” I snapped.

“Don’t panic. Malc’s already written himself a script for this character he’s going to be on the show, some lothario who’s picky about men and keeps dumping them, until he finds his Mr Right through the agency.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious. They say humour’s based on pain and Malc’s had his share of shitty relationships, so it’s very astute. And another thing, can you do me a favour and make sure you escort him backstage before he goes on? Hold his hand and stop him freaking out with nerves.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound cool, although I was already having misgivings, big ones, about this whole idea. There was no way any sane person would let Malc go on national TV tonight, armed only with some crappy script he’d rustled up himself, was there?

Luckily, Mia was spot on about the script. It really was rather amusing, and would only require some rudimentary tweaking to make it work.

I spent my lunch hour crossing out bits and writing suggested changes in the margins. Then I called Malc at Out of this World and went through his act, line by line. As I told him what alterations he needed to make, I began to feel slightly less anxious.

“Now this bit about your fail-proof formula for finishing a relationship in ten seconds.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well you’ve written, ‘You say to the guy, ‘I’ve always wanted to have a threesome with a dwarf.’”

”What? You don’t think that’s funny?”

“No, it’s funny all right, it’s just that, isn’t dwarf a bit politically incorrect? Maybe you could switch it to …” I wracked my brain for an alternative. Malc’s horse face swam into view. “What about, ‘I’ve always wanted to have a threesome with a horse.’”

As I glanced up, I noticed that Connor was in my office, looking achingly gorgeous in a sage green suit. I gulped.

“Um, look Malc, gotta go.” I banged down the phone and looked up at Connor for a few seconds while I waited for my brain to cobble together a makeshift story about who I’d been talking to. “Sorry Connor, I didn’t see you there. I was just rehearsing a speech I’m giving to D.R.I.P. with one of the organizers. You’ve probably never heard of them, The Drive for the Rights of Incontinent People. Anyway, their annual conference is tonight and they’re putting samples of Flowerette in their goodie bags.”

He gave a twitch of a smile. “I know who D.R.I.P. are. I attended their annual meeting once, and ended up sitting next to Curly Mackaw, who‘d come along for the free booze. This was a few years back, when Flowerette still sponsored his show.”

“Don’t remind me.” Since Flowerette’s market is post-menopausal females, not the 16-25 year old males who make up most of Curly’s demographic, I’d cancelled the deal when I took over the account a year ago. “I’ve never met him. What’s he like?”

“Pretty much as he is on the radio. Basically, an obnoxious git. He got very drunk, and after the speaker had finished, he stood up and said, ‘Great speech. I nearly pissed myself laughing.’”

I chuckled. “Probably not the best thing to say to a room full of incontinents.”

“Well, the speaker certainly didn’t laugh. In fact, she had him escorted from the building.”

“Oh dear.”

“And look, I couldn’t help overhearing you just now. Let’s just say that I don’t think talking about threesomes will go down very well with the blue rinse brigade.”

“Oh, right,” I stuttered. “Good point. Did you want anything, by the way?”

“Just wondered if you fancied a coffee.”

“Yes please. A no fat caramel mocha, with cinnamon on top, would be great.”

“No fat. That figures.” He held my gaze for a second, then dropped his eyes to the ground.

God he was hot. God this was awful. How could two people generate this much sexual tension? We really needed to start this affair soon, or I was going to self-combust. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that what I was really gagging for didn’t come in a Styrofoam cup. Instead I said perkily, “It’s so sweet of you to offer to go out.”

“Actually, I was just going to make instant, but if you want this mocha thing, I’ll run out and get it for you.”

I didn’t want him to think I was some high maintenance chick who had exacting tastes in coffee. Even if I was. I only drank the instant in the kitchen because I was too lazy to go out and buy mochas.

“There’s really no need. Instant would be lovely,” I said, but he was already half way out the door. Before he left, he turned round as if he was just remembering something and said, ever so casually, “Actually, wasn’t that D.R.I.P. conference last month?”

I stared at him blankly, praying for him to go.

Mercifully, he did.

How on earth did he know these things? Yes, the conference had been last month and I’d had to speak in front of a thousand conference members and hated every moment of it. I’d have been a nervous wreck if, like Malc, I was about to go out in front of a studio audience, with every eye trained on me, waiting to boo me if I failed to amuse. I had to grudgingly admit that I admired Malc for offering to take on this gig.

Suddenly aware that I had a throbbing headache, I sat down in the beige linen armchair in the corner of my office, and pressed my fingers to my temples. As I waited for my coffee, I closed my eyes and drifted off into a doze.

When Connor handed me my mocha, I opened my eyes and took a sip. I was about to protest that it had nutmeg on top, but stopped myself just in time.

“Look, I meant to say,” he ventured, unbuttoning the two top buttons on his shirt. For someone like Connor, this was akin to stripping off naked. Maybe we were making some progress at last. “Sorry I was a bit of a pain last week. Worked myself up in a lather about nothing again. That drink you mentioned, well, I’d like to take you up on it. Tonight?” His eyes twinkled. “Say, The Dog and Duck? They do a great sausage and mash.”

YYYYEEEESSSS! I screamed inside my head. This was happening. This was finally happening. We were on the same page. Then I remembered the promise I’d made to Mia to accompany Malc to the studio.

This was so not happening.

“I really would love to,” I said, as cheerily as I could. Inside I was sobbing buckets. “It’s just that I can’t. I’ve got this thing.” I promised I’d go to some stupid show. Actually I didn’t say that last bit because his face had collapsed and he’d mumbled something and hurried off.

I stood up, pulled down my blind and head butted the wall twice. Then I phoned Tanya and told her what had just happened.

“I don’t see why you didn’t just invite him along.”

“Because he’s totally straight laced, and thinks I am too. I don’t want our first date to be in a studio audience full of— ”

“Pansies?” she finished for me.

“I suppose so. Don’t make me sound homophobic. I’m not, you know. It’s just not the right setting for a first date, that’s all. You’re coming tonight, though, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she replied, giggling manically.

I crossed my fingers, praying I’d get another chance with Connor. It was a

miracle he’d asked once. Impossible to think he’d ask twice.

Do You Also Like To Service My Husband?

2007-12-01T15:52:00.000-08:00

After the week from hell, I’d decided I deserved a bit of pampering and had ended up spending Saturday morning having my roots and nails done. Now I was in the Islington Slug and Lettuce, listening to Mia moan on about her gay dating agency, Out of this World, which, although it had only been in business for three months, was already on its knees. Since Mia was one of my oldest friends—we’d met at Cambridge University some fifteen years ago—I’d tried to drum up some publicity for her by contacting the production company behind the hugely popular gay chat show Genderblast, who’d said they’d love to do a feature on the agency.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” I said. “I mean, for God’s sake, you’re going to be on Genderblast. Hasn’t anyone been in touch? They sounded very keen when I talked to them on the phone last week.”

“Of course they have,” Mia said sourly. “Some chirpy researcher called Gavin wants me to provide a guest for a taping of the show this Wednesday.”

“What do you mean, a guest? In my letter to the producers, I suggested you were the ideal person to go on. I mean, you’re gorgeous, gusty and gay. What more could they possibly want? ”

As she shook her head, her red ringletty hair bounced on her shoulders. “They don’t want me. They want a happy customer who can give an emotionally wrenching account of how they met their Mr or Ms Right through the agency.”

“So what’s the problem? Just pick out the prettiest, bubbliest girl you’ve matched so far.”

“Well I would, but I only have two girls on my books. One’s a Pilates freak without an inch of fat on her and the other’s a fatty who pigs out on chip butties. I don’t dare send them out on a date, because they’re totally unsuited to each other.”

“Okay, well, what about hot guys? The agency must be heaving with those.”

“Well, we do have an extremely nice bunch. But put it this way, none of them exactly combines the witty personality of a Steve Martin with the looks of a Keanu Reeves.”

“What about someone with Keanu Reeves’ personality and Steve Martin’s looks?”

“Not even that. I think we’re going to have to forget it, unless—”

“What?”

She shrugged and picked a soggy slice of lime out of her gin and tonic. “Unless you think Malc’s up to it. He’s desperate to go on Genderblast, so he can meet the host, Helenka Smythe. He’s one of her biggest fans, apparently. You must know who I mean? She’s one of the most high profile lesbians in the entertainment industry.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” I’d never actually watched the show, all I knew was that it was viewed by Mia’s target demographic.

“So, what about Malc? He really thinks he can do a convincing job of pretending to be a satisfied client.”

Mia’s assistant at the agency was the sort of homosexual the word ‘gay’, as defined by the dictionary as ‘joyous’ and ‘lighthearted’, wasn’t invented for. As well as wearing a permanent scowl, he also had a penchant for being rude to potential customers if they weren’t good looking enough. No wonder none of them stuck around to find true love! If Mia had any sense, she’d fire him. So what if he did have a backside like two firm peaches in a string bag? It didn’t make up for the fact that his face was decidedly horse-like and that he was wrecking Mia’s business.

As to the question of whether Malc should be let within a hundred feet of a TV studio, that was a no brainer. The answer was a definite no.

“I don’t know,” I said, as diplomatically as I could. “There must be someone else who could step in. What about all those babelicious friends of yours? Couldn’t they pretend they’d met through Out of this World?”

“You know how they feel about the agency,” she said, sucking on her bit of lime. “That it’s deeply naff. That if you can’t get a date off your own bat, you must be a loser. Which is ridiculous.”

I sighed, thinking they had a point. “Well, I suppose Malc can be funny, and he does have a nice bum, although since he’d be sitting down during the interview, we wouldn’t exactly get to see it. But I’m still not sure he’s up to the job. Look, how about we hold off until you have some genuinely satisfied customers. If Genderblast won’t wait, maybe I can get you on another show.”

“No.” She grabbed hold of my hand and gave me a pained, desperate look. “This is the perfect slot. Malc can pull it off, I know he can. I just need you to brief him a bit beforehand. What do you think?”

I gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll think about it while I get the drinks in.”

I shook my head as I made my way over to the bar. Mia was too damned idealistic for her own good. Just because she was madly in love with her posh girlfriend Imogen (a personal shopper at Harvey Nichols who had the shiniest chestnut hair outside a shampoo commercial I’d ever seen), she thought the rest of the world just needed a shove in the right direction. She’d jumped into this venture like a crazed cupid with a bow full of arrows and had sunk her savings into it without thinking too much about the nuts and bolts of the business. And while I didn’t want to put Malc on Genderblast, it was her only real opportunity to bring in new clients and save her company.

So, once I’d got in some fresh drinks, I carried them back to the table and said, “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s give Malc a shot.”

When I got home, I found Constanza frying knackwurst in a pan. She was also simmering sauerkraut. The smell of it, as usual, made me want to heave.

I walked over to the huge ripped open food parcel, which was obviously from my mother.

“I see you took the liberty of opening my mail,” I said frostily.

“No Mummy, I opened it!” said Ivy, who was sitting at the terracotta tiled breakfast bar, tucking into a mound of knackwurst and sauerkraut. “And there’s another parcel from Flowerette up in your room.” It was at times like this that I wished Ivy didn’t have an advanced reading age.

Brian Mulhoon, product manager for Flowerette, kept sending me free samples of their product, as a thank you for all my good work. More like an insult really. It was fine, if like Tanya, you worked for cosmetics companies. But incontinence pants? What the heck was I meant to do with them? So far I’d been throwing them the trash. But that seemed like an awful environmental no no. I’d have to think of some better way of disposing them.

“Why do they keep sending you diapers? Do you wear them, Mummy?” said Ivy, while Constanza eyed me with curiosity.

“Of course I don’t. Only babies wear diapers.” I was going to add, “and old people,” but decided not to, for fear that Ivy might reply, “But you are old,” which would probably have had me bursting into tears.

“Mummy, do you know where babies come from?” said Ivy, making a squelching sound as she chewed her sauerkraut.

“I go upstairs,” said Constanza pointedly, hurrying out. I would have loved to follow her, but that wasn’t the sort of thing a modern parent did, was it? Just run out of the room and pretend you hadn’t heard the question.

Instead, I ran out into the hall, yanked open the basement door, and hurried down the stairs to look for Alistair. He could deal with the facts of life talk. Why not? I had to deal with everything else.

Downstairs, Alistair’s two roomed home office was crammed with Ikea computer desks, chairs and bookcases, not because he really needed that much furniture, but because he finds putting the flat packs together relaxing. It’s a harmless enough hobby, I suppose, but I do insist that he confines his creations to the basement. Because the thing is, I’m proud of the way I’ve done up my house. It’s tasteful, understated and steeped in history. And I didn’t spend years visiting auctions all over Europe, purchasing Turkish vases, intricately carved French armoires and Austrian Biedermeier chairs, to have Alistair plonk some dull, functional piece of Ikea furniture in the middle of it all and ruin the whole effect.

“Mummy, I said, where do babies come from?” Ivy said, thundering down the stairs behind me.

“I know you did. It’s just that I’m sure Dad would be able to explain it so much better than I could.”

I pushed open the door to the adjoining room, where Alistair sat, leaning against a partly assembled desk, and talking into the receiver in a monotone.

“Yes, I have screw 15B, but I don’t have the Allen key that I need to screw in 15B. Yes, I understand that. You have very kindly supplied me with an Allen key for screws 13 and 14, but that Allen key is not suitable for use with screw 15B. Could I possibly trouble you to courier me over the Allen key for use with screw 15B?”

It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was on the phone to the Ikea helpline, a fairly regular occurrence, because the flat packs were frequently missing essential bits.

“I do appreciate that it’s expensive to bike over parts, but this project is one of some urgency, and … what? Yes of course I understand that you’re trying to keep overheads down.” And on and on he went, as he always did, wearing the customer service representatives down with his scrupulously polite voice, until they cracked.

“You will bike it over,” he said, having once again got his way. “Well, that is good news. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Alistair, hi,” I said, as soon as he’d replaced the receiver. “I need you to tell Ivy where babies come from.”

“Sure,” he said, beaming at her. “Why don’t you come and sit here, beside me. Now then, the first thing you need to know, is that when a special egg joins with a special seed, a baby is formed.”

“Oh. But where do you get the special seed?” Ivy asked.

Yeah Alistair, where do you get the special seed? I expected him to look as embarrassed as I felt, but instead, he coolly reached for a screw and an Allen key and held them up in front of her.

“Well, the special seed lives inside the daddy. Now, let’s pretend this screw with the hole on top is the mummy part, and that this Allen key is the daddy part. Now, watch as I put the two parts together,” he said, sticking the Allen key into the top of the screw, while Ivy stared at him with big saucer eyes.

Luckily, at that point, I heard my mobile ringing in the kitchen, and dashed up the stairs to answer it.

“Scarlett! I just got some good news,” Tanya said excitedly. “It’s totally a secret, but I’ve got word that Sachiko’s going to be in town next week. I’ve already briefed everyone I know to keep their eyes peeled. If they find her, they’re to ring me, day or night, and I’ll go find her. With my buckets of charm, I just know I’ll be able to convince her to do this campaign. I’ll be promoted at work and have the big office overlooking the King’s Road, rather than the bins round the back. This is it, I just know it!”

I let out a deeply negative sigh, knowing the whole plan was doomed to failure.

Later on, with Ivy in bed, and Alistair still in the basement, I went to my en suite bathroom, poured lots of bubble bath into the tub and switched on the taps. As I took off my clothes, I smiled to myself. I was going to indulge myself with lots of lovely thoughts about Connor.

Walking over to the full length mirror that was set in the wall, I tried to look at myself, the way a stranger might, the way Connor might, on seeing me naked for the first time.

I had to grudgingly admit that my face looked years younger than my age, thirty-four. My blue-green eyes sparkled, and a smattering of freckles gave me the cuteness factor of a girl in her twenties.

My body wasn’t too bad either. Alistair called it amazing, which was nice of him, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel self-conscious about the cellulite that patterned the backs of my thighs. My bum was a little saggy, as I’d had no time to go to the gym for the past few months, but at least my bust didn’t droop like that of some of the women I knew who’d nursed for months. I’d only managed two weeks, once the incessant pain of Ivy trying to rip out my nipples with her hard gums finally got to me. Looking at my perky breasts, I felt a wave of guilt that I hadn’t persevered more with nursing.

Swiftly brushing the thought aside, I sank into the warm bath, now almost overflowing with bubbles, and tipped my head back against a bath pillow. Closing my eyes, I decided that, all in all, Connor probably wouldn’t be able to find too much to complain about my body.

People think my slim figure comes naturally, brought about by a fast metabolism, when the reality is that I simply have an iron will when it comes to limiting calories. Alistair is always telling me I should indulge more, that I should have a chocolate once in a while, which is just plain daft. Doesn’t he know that one chocolate leads to another, and that before you know it you’ve got a flabby stomach and bat wings?

But not all indulgences are bad for you, are they? Some are calorie free and delicious. Like Connor, for example. I licked salty tasting sweat from my upper lip, as I thought about him sinking into the bath beside me, turning on the shower head and directing it between my legs.

The fantasy was so vivid, that I even found myself murmuring, “Oh yeah, that feels so good.”

Then, abruptly, a strongly accented woman’s voice brought my fantasy to a screeching halt.

“Scarlett, do you mind? But I am wanting to talk to you,” Constanza said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be attempting to make conversation with your moaning, naked employer.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” I said, grabbing a loofah and placing it over my exposed breasts.

I was staring down at her copper coloured toenails, hoping she’d go away, when I got distracted by the horrendous state of the floor. My precious tiny silver and turquoise tiles, which I usually polished to a shine, were covered in a film of ground in dirt.

First forgetting to tend to Alistair’s shirts, then letting the floor get like this. Things were spiralling out of control. I willed Constanza not to have noticed, but as my gaze travelled slowly up her orange silk pyjamas and landed on her face, I noted that not only was she staring at the floor, but that her nose was twitching with disapproval.

“I am sorry,” said Constanza, her eyes still locked on my tiles. “Next time I will knock.”

And suddenly it hit me. There must be something up with Ivy, else she’d never have disturbed me in the bath.

“Oh my God, what’s happened? Has Ivy had an accident?” I said, clambering out, not giving a damn now, whether she saw me nude.

“Nothing is happening to Ivy.”

“Oh.” I swivelled round, feeling like an idiot. “Then what did you want?” I said, pulling on my bathrobe.

“You look tired,” she said.

“Is that what you came in to tell me, that I look tired?”

“I am just thinking that you work too hard and you not sleep so good. I think I will stop Ivy sleeping in your bed, yes?”

“Well, thanks, that would certainly help,” I said, wondering where we were going with all this.

Lifting her crucifix to her mouth, she sucked on it for a second, then pulled it out.

“I think I would like to clean. I am boring when Ivy is at school.”

“You mean bored?” She nodded. “I don’t know. I have certain standards.”

“I do good job. And wash clothes too. And your underwear, by hand, yes?”

It was terrifying, thinking of this girl handling my precious La Perla bras. But there was no doubt that there was an air of efficiency about her. Ivy was always smartly turned out these days, her clothes pressed and neat in her cupboard.

“Well, okay, if you like. I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

“There is no need. I love to service this family.” She gave me a meaningful stare.

“And do you also love to service my husband?” I almost asked.

As I crouched down on the floor and started to scrub, I realized with a jolt that I didn’t care if she did.

Oh dear, I think I’m cracking up. I feel perilously close to having a nervous breakdown. In fact, I think I actualy might be in the middle of one. Any advice?

Blueberry Massacre

2007-11-30T15:51:00.000-08:00

Usually, on waking, I find myself crushed on either side by Ivy and Alistair. Ivy migrates into our bed at some point during the night, even though I’ve repeatedly told her not to. Today was an unusual morning, in that I felt only Ivy’s small warm body pressed against me. She was murmuring in her sleep, her head pressed against my shoulder.

Rolling away from her, I registered the dent Alistair’s head had made on the pillow. A sharp burst of fury reared up inside me at the thought of him, then flickered and died.

As I got up and headed towards the bathroom, my hangover felt blurry. I padded down the hall, hands outstretched, as if walking through a snow flurry. After taking a long shower, I dressed and went downstairs.

I went into the kitchen and kissed Ivy, who was, amazingly, already wearing her school uniform. Constanza, in a low cut top featuring a diamante-encrusted lion’s head, was sizzling waffles in a griddle which I had no recollection of owning. Her skin looked as fresh and dewy as a rose petal, which was truly incredible, seeing as she’d spent all night dancing at a sweaty club. Or had she?

As Alistair dashed into the kitchen, I looked him over objectively. His broad shoulders really filled out his well-tailored navy suit, making him look powerful, sexy even. What was going on? Was that? Could it be? Yes, something was definitely stirring in my nether regions. A languid stirring, like a dozing cat rearranging itself on a windowsill, but still, a sign, maybe, that our marriage wasn’t quite dead yet.

Ivy shrieked, “Daddy!” before running over and hooking herself onto one of his feet, a habit she’d developed as a one year old, and which she was now a good twenty pounds too heavy for.

“Ah, Constanza!” Alistair hobbled over to where she stood at the stove, dragging Ivy along with him. “I really owe you one, big time.”

Looking up from putting waffles on plates and smothering them in blueberry sauce, she said, “I am happy to help out.” Then, as Alistair gave her a dopey grin, she slowly dipped her finger into the batter and licked off the pale goo. Cripes, Tanya was right. The woman really did have an oral fixation.

“Ivy, why you not get off your Dad’s foot?” said Constanza.

“No I won’t,” Ivy said. “I don’t have to do what she says, do I Daddy?”

Alistair wasn’t listening, he was too busy ogling Constanza’s behind, as she carried the plates over to the table.

“I can’t stand her,” Ivy whined, still shackled to Alistair’s foot. “She took the TV out of my room. And she says I have to get up and be dressed by seven. I feel like I’m living in a prism.”

“Don’t you mean prison?” Alistair said distractedly.

“No I don’t. I mean prism.”

“Don’t be a silly, Ivy,” said a smiling Constanza, evidently not noticing that Ivy had rapidly dismounted Alistair’s foot and thrown herself in her path. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her trip over Ivy, giving a high pitched scream as she tumbled to the ground. After the waffles had stopped flying and the plates had stopped shattering, Alistair was left looking down at the blueberry splotches on his white shirt.

Once Constanza had dragged Ivy upstairs, both of them splattered with blue clumps, I went up to Alistair, who was dabbing at his shirt with a dishcloth.

“You know I waited all bloody evening for you, don’t you?” I said, trying to keep calm.

He looked up at me blankly.

“The anniversary dinner I cooked for you last night? I left a message on your voice-mail and with your PA. Ring any bells?”

“Not really. I was too busy working from a client’s office to check my voice-mail, and Joanna didn’t pass on any message.”

“Or maybe you told her not to bother you if your wife called.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“I don’t think so.” I couldn’t really see any other explanation for his PA not passing on the message. “By the way, what do you owe Constanza for?”

“Oh, she walked in on me this morning while I was in the laundry room. I was trying to iron a shirt and making a pig’s ear of it. She offered to iron it, that’s all.”

“And you let her?”

“What was I meant to do, wake you up and ask you to do it?” He threw the dishcloth into the sink and walked over to the wall mirror. Taking a tie from his jacket pocket, he started to knot it over the blueberry-splattered shirt.

Despite the fact that something about Constanza ironing his shirt was riling me, I also felt guilty. I usually did his shirts myself. I actually find ironing quite therapeutic. But what with one thing and another, like spending too much time fantasizing about Irish hunks and not enough time fantasizing about bleach, I had recently gotten behind on the laundry.

“By the way, what time did you come in last night?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Two or three. I don’t really remember.” When he turned to face me, his eyes were blazing. “Honestly,” he hissed. “You wanted the fancy frigging house and the best school for Ivy and the exclusive gym membership you don’t use, and the holidays in Mustique. It doesn’t all appear out of thin air you know. I work. In a damn good job. And when the shit hits the fan, I’ve got to be there to unstick it from the fan.” He raked his fingers through his hair, so that it stuck up all over the place.

A cleaned-up Ivy had appeared at his elbow. “Daddy, you said a bad word.”

We both ignored her.

“I work too.”

He laughed. “Yeah, okay you work. Then let’s get a flipping cleaner in to do the laundry. We can well afford it.”

Constanza came up behind Ivy, handed her a Hello Kitty backpack and silently led her into the hall.

As soon as the door had closed, I let rip. “I’ll do my own washing, thank you very much. We had that cleaner, remember, and she buggered up my silk underwear, because she couldn’t be bothered to hand wash it.” I shook my head and shuddered. “I mean, how could she? Putting my silks in the machine, on a hot wash! And it could just as easily happen again.”

He barged passed me, saying, “Excuse me if I don’t have time to discuss your underwear,” and stormed out.

I hoped he had a clean shirt to change into at the office. But he probably didn’t. Because I’d got behind with washing his shirts.

He was heading off to the office wearing a badly stained shirt.

Why that fact should have made me feel impossibly depressed, I really don’t know. But it did.

Flipping heck, I’m so stressed out I could scream. I really need some pampering, any ideas?

It's called the Ten-Year Itch apparently!

2007-11-29T15:50:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, Tanya buzzed me up to her Crouch End apartment, which was on the first floor of an apartment block that looked like a giant fifties style toaster. Due to the fact that Crouch End is nowhere near a tube, and therefore highly inconvenient to live in, she’d managed to buy her apartment on the cheap, and had since spent a great deal of money furnishing it with fashionable yet dreadful objects.

As she opened the door to her apartment, she handed me a glass of red wine. She’d squished her ample curves into a shiny green dress, and looked like an about to explode balloon animal.

“I can’t wait to hear about your date with Mr Haemorrhoid,” she said, leading me across the grubby looking hall carpet. “And don’t spare me any of the juicy details.”

I followed, sipping at the wine and trying to ignore my neck, which was sore from a hard day’s rubbernecking. I had a sinking feeling that telling her that I’d gawped at his blind a dozen times today was hardly the kind of juicy detail she had in mind.

“You know, your hall carpet could really use a steam clean,” I said, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Sod my carpet,” she said, pulling me into her living room, which had a metallic theme. There were overpriced ‘pictures’ on the wall, made up of sheets of metal with bullet holes shot through them, as well as lots of standing lamps which had been fashioned from twisted metal. “You promised you’d ask him out.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And he said he was busy. Said he had to work late,” I said, sitting down beside her on the rock hard sofa.

She leaned forward and drummed her fingernails on her bright orange phone, which sat on the coffee table beside a bottle of wine.

“Right. That’s it.” She grabbed the receiver and started to dial.

“Who are you calling?”

“Who do you think?”

Panic fluttered up inside me. “You can’t. You wouldn’t. In any case, you don’t have his number.”

“Oh yes I do. I looked it up in Yellow Pages earlier, because I had a feeling I’d be needing it tonight.”

I stared at her, frozen to my seat.

“Oh hello, is that Mr Hem … I mean, Mr O’Riordan … It is? … No, you don’t know me, but you do know a friend of mine.”

Was I just going to sit here, letting Tanya humiliate the crap out of me?

I most certainly was not.

Jumping up, I pulled the phone plug from the socket.

“What did you do that for?” she said, banging down the receiver. “Well, well, well, your Mr Haemorrhoid does have a rather sexy voice, it’s just a pity I was so rudely interrupted.”

“Can we stop calling him that,” I snapped.

“Why?”

“Well, Mr Haemorrhoid is hardly a name with romantic associations, now is it? It sounds more like the name of some crazy cartoon character, some grinning haemorrhoid running about on legs. Maybe calling him that is what’s jinxing this whole project.”

Tanya picked up the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “Maybe calling him Mr Haemorrhoid isn’t the problem. Maybe you’re just a really bad flirt. I’m beginning to wonder if you actually want to have an affair. Just say if you don’t. I’ve tried to be a good friend, patiently encouraging you, but I’ve just about had all I can take.”

I looked at her, flabbergasted. “Of course I do. So what if I’m not the sexual predator you are? So what if I haven’t tried to stuff my tongue down his throat? What am I even doing, running after some guy who patently isn’t interested? This was all your idea, remember? You’re the one who pushed me into this.” That wasn’t strictly true. Wasn’t true at all, in fact, but I felt like I had to take my frustration out on someone. “How about I forget all about him?”

I waited for her to say, No! Are you mad? But instead she just narrowed her eyes and said, “Fine.”

“Fine.”

We glared at each other.

“What am I sitting on?” I said, jumping up and peeling a sticky wand from my skirt.

“My Very Berry lip gloss!” She yanked it out of my hand. “Thanks. I’ve been looking for that all week.”

It was at moments like this that I wondered how a self proclaimed slob and one of the cleanest people within the M25 ever became best friends.

We first met, five years ago, at the Bobbi Brown makeup counter in Selfridges. Ivy was six months old and whining in her stroller, and I was just reaching out for the Red Riot tester lipstick, when an unkempt blonde intercepted me and grabbed it for herself. I watched, horrified, as she smeared it on her lips, before handing it back to me.

Did she have any idea what kind of danger using a tester directly on your lips could cause? Cold sores were only the start. Not to mention glandular fever. One simply couldn’t risk it, I thought, as I tried it out on the back of my hand.

“No, no,” said the blonde, grabbing the lipstick. “No point testing it there, because the skin tone is totally different to that on your face. I mean, you wouldn’t test a vibrator on the back of your hand, so why a lipstick?”

At that time I was a vibrator virgin. It was a few years before Alistair, in an attempt to rev up our sex life, came home from work one day, wearing a stupid grin and clutching a bag of electronic sex toys. Once we’d got into bed and he’d assembled his plastic friends on the pillow, I couldn’t help but notice one small omission: he’d forgotten to buy batteries. And while he was busy transferring batteries from Ivy’s talking toys to his sex toys, I drifted off. Subsequent attempts at electronically induced orgasms weren’t much less sleep inducing.

Anyway, there I was, wondering exactly where one did test a vibrator, when the blonde clamped my chin in her hand. As the germy lipstick touched my lips, I tried to worm my way out of her grasp, but she was surprisingly strong.

“Do you mind?” I said, finally wrenching my face away. While I scrabbled about in my handbag, looking for an antibacterial wipe to wipe the germs off with, the blonde screeched, “You little brat! Let go!”

Whipping round, I found her having a tug of war with Ivy, who had the hem of Tanya’s red wrap-around skirt in her fat little fists.

“I am so sorry about this,” I gushed, while I attempted to prize open Ivy’s hands.

Everyone was looking at me. I was sure they all thought I was a bad mother. Well, they were spot on. I was a bad mother. My daughter had accosted a stranger in a store. My face burned with shame.

“Come on now, Ivy. Let go,” I said firmly, just as Ivy gave a sharp yank. I watched, horrified, as the skirt unravelled, leaving the woman staring down at her landing strip of blonde pubic hair, which was covered by a translucent thong. Unable to take in the full horror of what had just happened, I found myself gawping at her crotch.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I said, jerking my head up to catch a bemused expression in her eyes. “I’ll get the skirt dry cleaned, of course.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, but I don’t think they’d let me on the bus wearing just these knickers, do you?”

“Um, I suppose not,” I said, picking the skirt up off the floor, where Ivy had tossed it.

Two teenage boys wolf-whistled as they went past, and she flashed them a grin.

“But you can buy me a BLT at the coffee shop. I’m famished. I’m Tanya Putschnik by the way.”

I shook her hand, trying not to look down at her voluptuous thighs, which she seemed in no great hurry to cover up. There was way too much untoned flesh on display for me to handle. I’m not a Rubenesque woman, far from it, and Tanya, who revelled in her roundness, her womanliness, and didn’t give a hoot about the wolf whistles she was attracting, well, to be honest, I found her absolutely terrifying. But since my Dad, Bill, had brought me up to mind my manners, I gave a tense little smile and said, “Scarlett Staines. And I’d love to buy you a BLT. It’s the least I can do.”

So she put on her skirt and off we went to the coffee shop.

When she’d finished stirring two packets of sugar into her hot chocolate, Tanya told me about her last boyfriend.

“Graham was absolutely perfect, for a while,” she said, taking a huge bite from her BLT. “But then he went off sex, which was really weird because he’d always been such an animal in bed. Eventually he confessed he’d got chlamidya. Said he’d caught it from a toilet seat, would you believe?” She darted out her tongue to catch some ketchup that was dribbling down her chin.

“Poor guy. Personally, I avoid public toilets if I can, but if I must use them, I hover. He’s all right now, I hope?”

She rolled her eyes skywards. “What are you like? A toilet seat, indeed. I soon wrung it out of him. He’d had a shag on top of some coats at a party, hadn’t he?”

“Good God,” I said, appalled.

“Obviously, after that, he had to go. He’d broken one of the most basic rules of any relationship.”

“You mean, by being unfaithful?”

She looked at me like I was crazy. “No, I mean, the one about, if you’re going to sleep around, use a condom.”

She screamed with laughter, and before I knew what was happening, I was guffawing away too.

Since giving birth to Ivy, I’d entered a twilight world of sleepless nights and incessant wailing (mostly mine). With a jolt, I realized this was my first bit of fun I’d had in months.

“Listen to me rattling on,” she said. “What about you? What with the sprog and all, I bet you don’t get out much.”

I shrugged.

“Hey, you know what? We should go out one evening. When was the last time you had a good night out on the tiles?”

“Pretty often actually.”

“You do surprise me.”

“Except for the going out bit. On Saturday nights you can usually find me on my knees, cleaning the kitchen tiles or the bathroom tiles, or ….”

“I get the picture. You need help. Urgent help.”

After that, I occasionally accompanied her out for drinks at trendy watering holes, but I’d never go on with her to a party or club, however much she begged. Before midnight I’d always slink home, drawn back by an overwhelming impulse to vacuum my carpets, to give my cutlery one last loving rub before bed.

Tanya mocked this behaviour, but learned to tolerate it. As for me, I loved the fact that you always knew where you were with her. She had no time for children, and didn’t try and disguise the fact. On the few times she’d seen Ivy, she’d showered her with lipsticks and nail varnishes, before pointedly ignoring her, which of course, made Ivy think she was deeply cool and a person to be worshipped.

“Here, have some of these,” she was saying now, rooting in her handbag and thrusting a cluster of candy bars, wrapped in pink foil, into my hands. “I’ve got tons.”

“Are you crazy?” I said. “You know I don’t touch candy.”

“No need to have a breakdown. They’re the new lip glosses from Blissout.”

“Oh, well, then thanks, you’re an angel,” I said, stuffing the lip glosses into my Marc Jacobs bag. Even though she’s a beauty PR and gets freebies all the time, free makeup still gives me a childish kick.

Although a beauty PR sounds glamorous, it actually isn’t. It’s mainly trying to get your clients’ makeup into fashion magazines as test products or getting them featured in fashion shoots and listed in the credits, as in ‘the model is wearing Blissout lip gloss in Sugercane.’ But now she’s set her sights on higher things. At a drinks party where she imbibed one too many cocktails, she made a rash boast to her hip UK client, Blissout Cosmetics, that she could get Sachiko Fiorelli, the LA based supermodel, to be the face of their new Fondantdew range of tinted moisturizers. You probably know who I mean, Sachiko’s gay and famous for being famous. She’s Japanese/Italian, and looks like a cross between Angelina Jolie and Lucy Liu. You know the one. Anyhow, if Tanya does manage to pull off this deal (unlikely, as she’s having no luck getting through to Sachiko’s minions so far) she’ll be the recipient of a hefty commission.

“So,” I said. “How’s it going in the great hunt for Sachiko Fiorelli?”

“It’s almost a done deal.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Yesterday I left a very charming message on her booker’s assistant’s assistant’s voice-mail.”

“What did he say when he rang you back?” I asked, leaning forward expectantly.

“Well, he hasn’t actually called yet, but I know he will.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“No need,” she said airily.

I loved Tanya’s childish optimism, but I had a feeling she was never going to get within air kissing distance of Sachiko.

“So, how’s it working out with Constanza?”

“Oh fine, fine. Ivy played up for the first few days, but Constanza kind of ignores her, doesn’t raise her voice like I do, and actually, yes, despite the fact that her taste in makeup leaves a lot to be desired, I think this might just work out.” I refilled my wine glass. “You know Alistair fancies her?”

“Really? And how’d you figure that one out?”

“He admitted it, would you believe? Well, what he actually said was that he didn’t think she was vulgar, which amounts to the same thing.”

“You think? Aren’t you being a bit suspicious? I mean, just because you’ve got your mind in the gutter these days, doesn’t mean Alistair does too.”

“I know exactly where his mind is. Fixated on Constanza’s tits.”

“How’d you work that one out?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but honestly, you should have seen them yesterday. I was coming into the kitchen, when I found them staring at each other like bison in heat. Well, he was, anyway. She has this long fringe that hangs in her eyes, so you can’t always tell what she’s looking at, but they were standing close together, and she was fiddling with a crucifix around her neck. He was absolutely mesmerized by her breasts, which were swelling out of a low cut top. And they were whispering about something. They didn’t notice me at all. And then, I couldn’t believe it.”

“What?”

“Well, she picked up the crucifix and popped it in her mouth.”

Tanya raised her eyebrows.

“I couldn’t face seeing any more, so I stomped over. Alistair smiled and said something about how he was just informing her about Catholic churches in the area. I don’t know. What do you think? Am I overreacting? Maybe he really was just trying to make her feel welcome.”

Tanya took a sip of wine and rolled it around her mouth. “You really want my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Well, if it were me, I’d nip this whole thing in the bud, fire her before you find out that her oral fixation extends to more fleshy things.”

I looked at her blankly.

“You know, hard fleshy things that are full of seeds.”

“Cucumbers?”

“Exactly. I’m worried that Constanza’s going to eat you out of cucumbers.”

“Oh.” I blushed, as I finally got her drift. “Well, that’s a chore I really wouldn’t mind her taking over. Maybe I should put it in her employment contract?”

“You don’t really mean that, do you? I mean, look, I’ve got the morals of an alley cat, but even I wouldn’t want my husband having an affair right under my nose, and neither would you.”

“I suppose not.”

“You’re just going through the ten-year itch. Once you finally kick this thing into gear with Connor, you’ll be a much happier girl.”

“Shouldn’t that be the seven-year itch?”

“I don’t know, I read in some women’s mag that it’s actually much more likely to happen around the ten year mark.”

“That’s crap, like so much of the stuff they put in those glossies. Promise me you’ll never take one of those articles about ‘Fifteen Ways to Spice up your Sex Life’ seriously.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because you can’t force your sex life to be exciting and spontaneous. Look, I’ve done all the role-playing and surprising your husband when he comes home from work wearing just an apron, and let me tell you, it just felt like I was in a bedroom farce.”

“Poor you. Can’t say I know what you mean though. Once sex gets stale I just jump ship. But I always reckoned that you could train a man to be a good lover, sort of like obedience training for dogs?”

I shook my head. “Think about it. Even if I try really hard and learn, say, Spanish, everyone will know from my accent that I’m actually English, and Spanish speakers will allow me my little grammatical idiosyncrasies and smile indulgently, or just walk away because they can’t understand me. That’s like it is with Alistair now. He does his best. He tries, he really tries, to stimulate me to ecstasy, but it just feels like he’s speaking a foreign language. Badly.”

“Hmm. This is all very confusing.”

“It isn’t really. Either you have a natural flair for languages or you don’t.”

“You think Connor might have a natural flair?”

“I’m pretty damn sure he speaks fluent German, Spanish and Arabic. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

She shrugged. “Since you’re obviously never going to find out, I think you just have to face the fact that sex is a bore for you married people. It’s the price you pay for having a bloody gorgeous house and holidays in exotic locations.”

“You’re probably right. Anyway, look at the time, I’ve got to go home and cook for Alistair.”

“You’re joking?”

“No, I said I’d cook him dinner at eight-thirty.”

“Why?”

“It’s our anniversary. He usually expects a slap up meal. And since I left a message with his PA and on his voice-mail earlier on, it looks like I’m going to have to follow through.”

“Sounds very romantic.”

“Might be actually, anniversaries usually get Alistair all misty eyed. Who knows, maybe a little candlelight might even get this marriage back on track?”

I left Tanya laughing uproariously at this suggestion.

Once I’d purchased steaks and an array of hugely fattening ingredients from Sainsbury’s, and had everything laid out before me in the kitchen, the prospect of actually cooking left me feeling utterly exhausted. The only way to get through this, I figured, was to pretend I was cooking for Connor. Luckily, the strategy worked. Soon I was energized, frenziedly slicing up potatoes and dousing them with garlic, white wine and cream, when Ivy came in, sniffed the air and said, “Mummy, what are you doing?”

“Cooking, of course.” Her confusion was understandable. Although the kitchen had all the accoutrements of the gourmet, the sparkling copper pans hanging from the ceiling, and the ropes of garlic and strings of chillies, the truth was that I hardly ever cooked. Since Alistair was rarely home for dinner, I usually just rustled up something for myself and Ivy from the freezer.

Bending down, I kissed the top of her head and told her to hurry up to bed.

And then, when everything was in the oven and I was happily ensconced in a fantasy in which Connor was smothering me in whipped cream, the phone rang.

“Hello mein Liebling.” My mother. Nearly forty-five years of living in the English speaking world and she still sounded like she’d arrived from Berlin this morning. “Why you never call me? I am worrying about you so much. I never see my granddaughter. She is growing up so fast. And the photos you send me over the e-mail, you are still so beautiful, still looking like Scarlett O’Hara.” My mother, on looking at my red scrunched up face at birth, had declared me the spitting image of the character from Gone with the Wind, and decided to name me after her. “But you are so thin, Liebling, too thin!”

I balanced the phone under my chin while I separated eggs for the béarnaise sauce. “Hello Mum, how nice to hear from you,” I said, thanking God once again that she lived four thousand miles away and could no longer pop in unannounced, as she’d had a habit of doing while she still lived in England. She’d been bored and lonely since my Dad died when I was ten years old. It had been something of a relief when, after falling for a karate teacher called Johnny five years ago, she’d run away with him to Miami.

“I’m fine Mum, really I am,” I said, pulling the potatoes au gratin out of the oven and sprinkling Parmesan on top. I reached for the bottle of Pouilly on the kitchen counter and glugged it straight from the bottle.

“I have sent you a parcel with knackwurst and some jars of sauerkraut. When you were a girl, oh how you loved my sauerkraut.”

“Great,” I said. What I was really thinking was that I wished I had the guts to tell her how much I’d always loathed sauerkraut. “I’ll look out for the parcel. I can’t talk now, Alistair’s dinner is burning in the oven.”

Actually the dinner looked absolutely perfect, but it was nearly eight-thirty and I still had to get changed.

I set the dining room table with candles and long stemmed arum lilies, and dressed myself in a dusky rose Christian Lacroix top with spaghetti straps and a frothy girly skirt. As I sat at the table, drinking wine, I began to feel deeply sensual and wanton. What with all my fantasizing about Connor, I was relaxed and erotically charged. If Alistair and I made love tonight, I was certain it would be a turning point in our marriage.

But by half past nine, both the meal and the prospect of an evening of sexual abandon were ruined. I looked up from where I was scraping the burnt dinner into the bin, to see Constanza shimmy into the kitchen in a hot pink dress and glittery heels.

“You cook for Alistair? He no come home?” she said, fiddling with her crucifix.

“Men!” I said inanely, forcing a smile. “Off out somewhere?”

“I go to the night club.”

When I’d interviewed her, despite the fact she’d worn a trashy outfit, she’d been subdued and unlike the other candidates, had made no demands. The other girls had reeled off a long list of requests, from what make of car they wanted me to supply, to whether they could repaint their room red, to whether it was okay to keep pet rats. After those disasters, Constanza only had to say, “I no drive. I no want to paint room,” and she was in. She’d seemed so refreshingly simple.

Constanza put the crucifix in her mouth for a moment and bit on it, like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t dare. Easing the glistening object out from between her lips, she gave me an enigmatic smile, before turning on her heel. As I watched her bottom wobbling about in its tight sheath of pink, I began to wonder whether she was really as uncomplicated as I had first thought. Could she possibly be plotting to sleep with Alistair? Like, maybe, even tonight? Tanya had suggested getting rid of her, but if I fired her now, according to her contract, I’d have to pay her six months wages. In any case, what evidence did I have?

And what about Alistair? Was he capable of screwing the nanny? I realized I hadn’t a clue, because I no longer had any idea what went on in his head. Had I ever?

I tried to remember the last time we’d talked, laughed, relaxed in each other’s company, but I couldn’t. Instead, my memory leapt back seven years, to happier times, when we’d rented a big apartment in Primrose Hill, which had brimmed with laughter and parties and people. And Alistair had been at the centre of it all, dispensing drinks with a smile. Handsome, quietly charming Alistair.

But it hadn’t been enough for me, had it? I’d pushed for the house in Islington, filled with fancy antiques. He’d taken a more senior management consultancy job to pay for it all, with longer hours. Soon the laughter and guests had dwindled away, until the present, when spending time together had become a very rare occurrence indeed.

Now Alistair was a stranger.

A stranger who slept in my bed and made love to me and paid money into our joint account.

I’m starting to get anxious…do you think Alistair is capable of screwing the nanny?

Also, does anyone else sometimes feel like their husband has become a stranger to them? It’s a scary feeling isn’t it. I just wonder if it will pass.

Is Alistair Up To No Good?

2007-11-28T16:26:00.001-08:00

Today, Mr Haemorrhoid popped his head into my office. He was all hot and flustered. What was it now? Not Curly Mackaw again, surely?

“I really need to talk to you,” he said.

Well, that was a good start. Maybe I’d been too hasty in writing him off. Maybe he was just incredibly backward about coming forward.

As I jumped up and walked round to the front of my desk, I noticed that he was looking particularly delectable today, in a charcoal suit and pale pink shirt. His mauve tie made the intense blue of his eyes pop. The colour of forget-me-nots, I thought dreamily, as he cocked his head to one side and said, “Have you ever had a problem with people eating your product?”

What?

What the hell kind of chat up line was that?

I kept my smile glued to my face. I wasn’t beaten yet. According to Tanya, any conversation could be turned into a flirting opportunity, as long as you made sure you were displaying your body in the most seductive way possible. And since my legs were bare and I was wearing a short white skirt, what could be simpler than giving another of Tanya’s top tips, the Sharon Stone, a whirl?

So, giving him my sexiest look, I swung myself up onto the desk and started crossing and uncrossing my newly fake tanned legs, à la Basic Instinct. But I needn’t have bothered. Maybe I didn’t look enough like Sharon Stone, or maybe it was simply the fact that I was wearing panties. In any case, he seemed far more interested in the drooping spider plant behind me.

“Well, have you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes of course. They use Flowerette in old people’s homes all the time. And, as you can imagine, some of the old ‘uns are a bit gaga and mistake them for bread rolls.” I laughed. Uncrossed my legs. His glance hovered over my bare knees. I thought I detected his eyes flickering with lust, but it may just have been the strip lighting, which had been playing up lately. “Flowerette responded a few years ago by changing the formula of their products. Now they’re completely non-toxic. So, who’s been eating Villorex?”

“Only some moron who got stomach ulcers because of it, and is threatening to sue. I mean, how hard can it be to follow the instructions on the packet? They clearly state, ‘apply only to the affected area.’ I mean, Jesus, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”

He started to pace the room, clearly preoccupied with the nutter who’d eaten haemorrhoid cream. Fine, I thought, feeling just a tad pissed off. If he wasn’t in the mood for flirting, I’d allow myself a little fun at his expense instead.

“Well, there was that case in the US where a woman kept spreading contraceptive jelly on her toast.”

“What happened?” He stopped pacing and took a step towards me. “Did she fall ill?”

“No, she fell pregnant.”

“Oh God.” Connor’s face had suddenly turned pale beige. “Don’t tell me, she got millions in compensation?”

I waited a moment, allowing the full satisfaction of the situation to sink in.

“Of course she didn’t. It’s an urban myth. Because even in the US, you can’t sue because you’re simply too dumb to understand the instructions.”

He looked hopeful. “But even if it doesn’t get to court, what if this guy goes to the papers?”

“Send him a case of cream as a sweetener to get him not to blab. But make sure you put big stickers on each tube saying ‘Only for use on the bottom.’ No, that’s too obscure, he’ll smear it on the soles of his feet. Put, ‘Only to be used on the haemorrhoid.’ There you go, case closed. You owe me one, buster.”

And then, I almost tumbled off my desk in shock, because he was right up near me, smelling of citrusy aftershave and leaning in towards me.

Finally. Finally he had read the signals. He was going to kiss me and make love to me on my desk. He’d take me roughly, thoroughly, like no man ever had before.

Or maybe he’d just kiss me on the cheek and make me whimper with disappointment.

“Sorry, are you in pain?” he said, giving a slight smile.

Suddenly I knew. I knew he knew I was gagging for him. And that smile showed that he knew I knew he knew.

“What?” I said, looking at his mouth, which had now stretched out into a smug bastard smile.

“Only you started to moan,” he said, pretending to be perplexed.

“Right. No. I mean yes. Yes.” I nodded. “I have toothache.”

“You should get that seen to.”

“I certainly will.”

And then, whatever erotic charge had hummed between us for a moment was broken, as he took a step back. “Thanks for your advice. You always manage to put things in perspective.”

As he started to walk away, a voice screamed, “Don’t go!” inside my head, while he slipped away, out the door, leaving me wildly turned on and slumped on my desk.

There was no doubt about it. Mr Haemorrhoid was going to be a very tough nut to crack.

Just Do It!

2007-11-27T10:24:00.000-08:00

Today, I drove to work, my stomach knotted up with nerves. I’d decided I was going to ask Mr Haemorrhoid out. But what if he turned me down? What then?

The screeching of shock jock Curly Mackaw on the radio interrupted my train of thought. Curly, who was in the middle of judging a Whose Got the Biggest Haemorrhoid? competition, could be funny, albeit in a rather crude way, but I had an additional reason to tune in. The show was sponsored by Villorex, allowing me a tenuous, rather pathetic connection with Mr Haemorrhoid on my morning commute.

“We’ve got contestant number six here, bent over, and oh sweet Jesus, I think I’m going to lose my breakfast,” squealed Curly. “Good God! It’s as big as a golf ball. You say you’ve had it three years? Well, let me tell you, Pete Johnson, you are a very strong contender to win five thousand pounds and a lifetime’s supply of Villorex haemorrhoid cream.”

Wiping the dreadful vision of the golf ball sized haemorrhoid from my mind, I replaced it with the much more edifying image of Mr Haemorrhoid. No, he wouldn’t turn me down, I told myself firmly. Now it would simply be a matter of days before he kissed me, before he wrapped me in those big, strong arms and told me he’d been in love with me from the very first moment he clapped eyes on me …

The car behind beeped. Snapping out of my reverie, I noticed I’d been sitting at a green light, deep in contemplation. Get a grip, I told myself, nosing my pale blue SUV into the flow of traffic. Now Curly was screaming about a haemorrhoid that looked like Yoda. And there was more screaming awaiting me when I got to work. I was in the tiny kitchen, making myself a cup of coffee, when Mr Haemorrhoid, all six foot three, dark hair, piercing blue eyes and panty-melting Irish accent, wedged himself in beside me and started ranting.

“Did you hear it, that haemorrhoid competition on The Curly Mackaw Show?”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, inhaling him hungrily. His scent, citrusy aftershave mixed with the fresh sweat that shimmered at his temples, made me long to grab his tie and just reel him in, inch by inch, until we were face to face, mouth to mouth.

Connor was looking at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to continue, so I said, “Great brand recognition for Villorex, wouldn’t you say?”

“No I would not.” He loosened his tie a fraction. It was the middle of flipping August, and while the rest of the office was in polo shirts and chinos, he was roasting, all done up like a turkey in foil that’s just been pulled from the oven. “Haemorrhoids are not a joke. Those poor contestants. They should have seen a doctor years ago. Villorex can’t save them now. When I did that sponsorship deal for Curly’s show, there was no mention of a contest. This is so not the kind of publicity I need for Villorex.”

I spooned instant coffee into two mugs. God it was exciting, to be standing next to someone who was so passionate, so ready to blow. It was getting very steamy in here, and the steam definitely wasn’t coming from the kettle, as I had flicked off the switch, preferring to stir the coffee granules into hot but not boiling water, as it saved me burning my mouth. I poured water into the mugs and looked at him coquettishly.

“You seem like you need to relax.”

He snorted. “Fat chance of that. I could brain that Curly Mackaw, I really could.”

I gave him my most alluring smile and said softly, “How about a quick one, after work?” Then, realizing what I’d said, I swiftly added, “I mean, a drink.”

“Look Scarlett, I’d love to, but I’m going to be working late doing damage limitation on this Curly thing.” He picked up his coffee and wandered off.

“Of course. I understand,” I said to his retreating back. Like hell I did. What in God’s name was so wrong with me that I was playing second fiddle to a haemorrhoid competition?

I stormed into my office and slammed my coffee onto my desk.

Fine, I thought. From now on I would no longer expend my energies flirting with a man who was clearly disinterested.

Mr Haemorrhoid was history.

*************************************
Grrr.... Mr Haemmorhoid playing it cool just fuels my fire and makes me want him all the more, even though rationally I know I’m going to get burned…don’t you think?