I Am Ella, Buy Me

by Joan Ellis

‘Not with her accent, there aren’t. And that place is just where she would hang out, desperate to be spotted. She’ll do anything to break into the business. She’s a real gold-digger.’

  He eats three mouthfuls of cake in quick succession. Each bite fuels another attempt to discredit her.

  ‘When I worked with her, I thought she said her name was Karen. So I kept calling her Karen. ‘My name’s Cara, C-A-R-A.’ she would say. The more annoyed she got, the more I wound her up.’

  Adam mimics her perfectly. He laughs then stops suddenly.

  ‘Did Tom stay at yours last night?’ I blink at him.

  ‘Yes.’

  He looks at me uneasily and raises an eyebrow.

  ‘He woke me up crashing about in the kitchen,’ I tell him. ‘Must’ve been about six, it was almost light. God knows what he was doing. Eventually, he came to bed stinking of booze. I pretended to be asleep.’

  ‘Not frightened of him are you?’ he asks.

  He watches me closely. I look away. His serviette is in shreds in front of me. I don’t remember doing that. I am holding the last piece in my hands.

  ‘No, he would never hurt me,’ I tell him.

  I put the pile of white tissue paper to one side and toy with the sugar bowl, pushing it in circles with my hands.

  ‘He already has,’ he replies. ‘What will you do now?’ This must be serious; Adam has put his cake down.

  ‘Get on with my work. I can’t afford to mess up. With Peter away it’s the perfect opportunity to make my mark.’

  ‘And Tom?’ he asks.

  I don’t know what to say.

  ‘What d’you think I should do?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ella. You’ve got to talk to him, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s anything to say after last night.’ He shrugs his shoulders.

  ‘I’m sure he regrets it now. He must know he’s lucky to have you,’ he says with the gentlest of smiles.

  ‘Try telling him that.’

  ‘I will if you want me to.’

  I shake my head, vehemently. He jabs his finger into the last of the chocolate cream on the plate and licks it.

  ‘Better than sex,’ he says.

  ‘Really? So how is your girlfriend?’ I ask relieved to change the subject.

  ‘Do I detect trouble in paradise?’ Suddenly, I feel much brighter.

  ‘I’ve known Jan since grammar school, we’re at the comfortable stage.’

  ‘Like an old pair of slippers?’ I smirk at him.

  ‘Yeah, but that’s fine, isn’t it?’

  I am not sure if he’s asking me or telling me. Either way, is it fine to be in your early twenties and in a relationship that’s so cosy it’s comatose?

  ‘How’s her job?’ I ask. ‘Still can’t believe you’re going out with a doctor.’

  I have never met Jan but from what Adam tells me they don’t have much in common. She sounds very serious and sensible. I can’t imagine she’d know what to do with a jug of cream.

  ‘You saying I’m stupid?’ he asks good-naturedly. ‘Yeah, it’s going okay, I think. I hardly ever see her. She’s on nights at the moment. Be better when she’s doing day shifts again.’

  ‘So are you living together now?’ I ask feeling like a piece of flint has lodged inside my heart.

  ‘Yeah, a house in Clapham, just off the Common,’ he tells me looking away.

  A house? He’ll be telling me she’s barefoot and pregnant next.

  ‘She’s mentioned starting a family but I’m trying to talk her out of it. Not ready for sleepless nights yet.’

  Thank goodness for that.

  ‘When did you move in together?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

  ‘A few weeks ago. Her Dad gave her the money for a deposit. Think it was a tax dodge or something. Anyway, he’s obsessed with getting her on the property ladder.’

  My guts knot together. I try to force a smile.

  ‘You okay?’ asks Adam, putting his hand gently on my arm. It feels warm and reassuring. I pull away.

  ‘I’m fine, but I must go,’ I tell him. ‘Meeting with Josh. That man’s so boring. The minute he opens his mouth I switch off.’

  ‘I remember,’ says Adam chuckling. ‘I fell asleep in his Dreamie Beds presentation. Luckily, the client thought it was some sort of witty homage to his product. He even gave us more business because of it.’

  ‘Oh yeah, Jill’s told me that story. It’s a good job she’s in there with me, taking notes. I never thought I’d say this but she’s great; I’d be lost without her.’

  ‘Does she still wash her smalls in the office?’ he asks with a knowing grin.

  ‘Now she’s working for me, she hasn’t got time,’ I say smiling.

  He jumps up and hugs me good-bye. It feels wonderful. I jerk backwards and run out of the door. Then I stop, look over my shoulder and wave. He doesn’t see me; he’s at the counter paying the bill. I quicken my pace and dart into the newsagent for some chewing gum. I need something to keep me awake during my meeting. The queue is half way down the shop and full of impatient people like me, all wanting to be served first. I catch sight of this week’s Campaign on the shelf.

  ‘High-Pro Fires CBA,’ screams the headline.

  Now it is official, the whole of Adland will know we’ve failed. I walk towards the agency down-hearted but when I arrive in the creative department I switch on my bright and breezy-mode.

  ‘Morning, Jill, how are you today?’

  ‘Fine thanks, Ella. You look tired. You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, didn’t get much sleep last night, stressing out about the meeting,’ I lie and then wish I hadn’t.

  Good job I never pursued my dream of becoming an actress; I’m rubbish.

  ‘Never worry about work or men. Life’s too short,’ she advises with a wink.

  ‘Instead of taking notes in the meeting, can you check out some information on team building events, venues, activities, that sort of thing? Just get some ballpark costs? Thanks.’

  ‘Sure,’ she replies following me into my office. ‘How exciting.’

  Reluctantly, I replay the events of last night in my mind, trying to make sense of what happened. Now, standing here amongst the calm opulence of the agency, vases of orchids and vast white walls lined with awards, I can almost pretend it never happened. Did Tom really tell me to leave? Stop. I’m here now. I must focus.

  ‘What’s this, Jill?’ I ask pointing to a white paper bag on my desk.

  ‘Don’t know. Someone left it in reception for you about five minutes ago.’

  I peek inside and see an enormous chocolate and hazelnut croissant. Well, that’s lunch sorted. Thanks, Adam.

  Chapter twenty-three

  If it doesn’t work, tear it up and start again

  ‘Can we afford it?’ asks Josh when I suggest the idea of a team-building event at the end of our dullest meeting to date.

  ‘Can we afford not to?’ I reply. ‘Everyone is on their knees. Business is bad. People are worried about their jobs. It’s worth a try.’

  I pick at the croissant Adam gave me. Each mouthful reminds me I have a friend, even if I no longer have a boyfriend. Tom crossed a line last night. I couldn’t bear to be like Mum, living for years in hope things would get better, one day.

  ‘I’m not convinced an agency jolly is the answer,’ Josh says. ‘Waste of money, if you ask me.’

  He has a way of dismissing me with a glance. I eat the last piece of the croissant, the crunchy end. It’s made me feel a bit less jittery, must be the sugar rush.

  ‘Sweet thought, thanks for that, Adam,’ I think.

  ‘Josh,’ I say. ‘We both know you spend more on lunch than the whole team-building budget.’

  He likes to show-off when he’s wining and dining clients by outdoing the table next to him and running up an eye-watering bar bill before anyone has even seen the menu. He once spent over a hundred pounds on a bottle of champagne. Even Peter blanched at signing that one off.
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  ‘Nice try, but once the fun and games are over, how do you propose we get more business through the door? We’re sinking fast,’ he snaps closing his box file just before I can impale him on his ring-binder.

  ‘You’re going to get us on every pitch list going and we’ll hire some young, keen, inexpensive creative talent,’ I tell him confidently.

  ‘You don’t have time to wet-nurse juniors.’

  ‘So, we’ll hire freelancers to help with the extra work.’

  ‘On their rates?’ he asks.

  ‘No, you’re right. Looks like it’s back to plan A. I’ll get onto the headhunter to send in some junior teams and …’

  The phone interrupts me. I answer it.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Ella,’ says Jill. ‘I’ve got someone on the line for you.’ She knows I never take calls when I’m in a meeting. One slip-up, that’s all

  it takes.

  ‘I’ll ring them back,’ I tell her.

  Josh pretends to be checking his papers but I know he’s listening. He always is.

  ‘It’s Tom,’ says Jill. ‘He’s insisting on speaking to you. He rang earlier. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I mouth to Josh as I turn my back to him. No doubt Tom has rung to apologise. About time.

  ‘You made a scene at my work. So I thought I’d make one at yours,’ he says, his tone edgy.

  ‘I can’t talk now, Tom.’

  My default smart-arse comments can’t save me know.

  ‘You couldn’t stop last night.’

  This isn’t like one of the films Tom and I watch, full of sharp, scripted responses. This is real life. My life. Tom’s words are more powerful than any advertising slogan I have ever created.

  ‘I’m in a meeting. I’ve got to go.’

  My voice, small and uncertain, echoes how I feel. Josh is watching, barely recognising this weak, whispering woman.

  ‘The same meeting you were in earlier when I rang?’ Tom asks cladding each word in sarcasm.

  That’s rich coming from him. How dare he infer I am up to no good? I

  unfurl my crumbled body and hang up.

  ‘Everything okay, Ella?’ asks Josh. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

  Not unless it is holy water and you fancy flinging it over the spawn of

  Beelzebub, I think.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, Josh,’ I lie because I can’t afford to show Josh any sign of weakness.

  ‘Sure, you look a little shaken.’

  ‘Where were we?’ I ask, sounding like my Mum.

  She wasn’t always a shadow of a woman. Once upon a time, dressed to the nines, in her sixties black and white silk polka dot dress, wearing a matching bandana and winged sunglasses, she could have passed for a film star. Her mile wide smile dazzled my father, for a while. But when their relationship died, so did her spirit. She cut out the joy in her life. Just like that.

  ‘Oh yes, away days, they’re fun, aren’t they,’ I say.

  Funny word ‘fun’. Not sure I know what it means anymore. A huge mental effort and I am back in the room.

  ‘We can do this later,’ suggests Josh eyeing me suspiciously.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ my voice echoes uncomfortably inside my head.

  I will not let Tom drag me under. I haven’t known him long. And it seems I never knew him at all.

  ‘Okay, so who’s going to organise this so-called team-building event? And, don’t look at me.’

  ‘Jill,’ I reply automatically. ‘She deserves a chance.’

  My mind presents me with an image of Tom’s face, his achingly handsome features distorted with anger, just like they were last night. In that moment, I didn’t know him. I didn’t want to know him.

  Josh’s mouth is moving, his lips parted to reveal perfectly even teeth, the result of years of expensive orthodontic work.

  ‘Ella for God’s sake, focus! How do we persuade the board to sign this off? We can hardly bill the clients for our company jolly, unless we invite them too.’

  ‘We’re not billing the clients.’

  ‘Not directly, but as good as.’

  ‘No way, we’re paying for this. Everything upfront and above board, for a change,’ I reply. ‘Smile! It worked wonders for Adam Hart’s agency.’

  ‘Adam Hart’s agency is twice the size of ours and they’ve got money to burn. Didn’t they all stay in a castle and do a spot of archery?

  ‘It was clay-pigeon shooting but it’s not what we do, it’s doing it as a team that counts,’ I tell him.

  It’s a direct quote from Adam and provides me with the ammunition to quash Josh.

  ‘And we all know what our lot would like to do together,’ he says raising his perfectly waxed eyebrows at me.

  ‘They’re adults, Josh,’ I snap. ‘I want solutions not problems.’ He is speechless. He has taken the bullet meant for Tom.

  ‘Sorry, Josh, that wasn’t fair. Please use your charm to persuade the board and I’ll ask Jill to get all the facts and figures for you.’

  ‘She is just a typist. Sure she’s up to this?’

  The word ‘just’ gets to me. I have heard it all my life. ‘Just a girl.’ ‘Just a woman.’ ‘Just a mum.’ I can’t imagine the opposite: ‘Just a boy.’ ‘Just a man.’ ‘Just a dad.’

  ‘One minute you’re saying a team-building event is nothing more than a glorified piss-up, the next it’s too important for Jill to organise. Make up your mind. Do it yourself. Or give Jill a chance. I’m sure she’ll surprise you.’

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ he says as Jill wafts past the open door, buffing her nails.

  ‘I happen to know Jill’s mum owns a huge property portfolio. Perhaps she can arrange for us to all stay in one of her country piles,’ I suggest, knowing he’ll warm to that idea. It would be like going home to Josh. His sister went to the same school as Lady Di.

  ‘Really? Sounds amazing. Okay, Ella. You win. We’ll give it a go but make sure this away-day doesn’t turn into a whey-hey day. We can’t afford the paternity suits.’

  ‘Oh Josh, you cracked a little joke there. Well done.’

  ‘Let’s just hope the joke’s not on you, Ella.’

  Chapter twenty-four

  Avoid superlatives

  I have always felt a fraud. I wait for the hand on my shoulder and the voice telling me, ‘You’ve had a good run, Ella. Now, off you go, there’s a good girl. Close the door on your way out.’

  Faced with interviewing a junior team fresh out of college, I remind myself I know more than they do about advertising. I re-apply my lippy and check my hair in my compact mirror. A stray curl sticks out to one side. I slap it down with the palm of my hand. It flies up again. The door opens.

  ‘Ella. I’ve got Chloe and David for you,’ says Jill. I nod and she ushers them into my office.

  ‘Hi there, I’m Ella, pleased to meet you. Come on in,’ I say, one hand welded to the side of my head, as David manoeuvres their huge black portfolio onto the table.

  They come highly-recommended. Adam loved their work but he’s not hiring so he passed them onto me. I leaf through their ideas. They look beautiful but are inconsistent. I listen carefully, as the Art-Director, David talks about colours and typefaces. Chloe says nothing, just stares at me intently. Dare I risk moving my hand away from my head or will the wayward curl defy me? Perhaps she has noticed my roots need doing? I haven’t had time to get to the salon. Is my lipstick too red? She’s younger than me; she must know Ruby Berry is last season’s shade. She holds my gaze for a moment longer than is comfortable. My other hand flies up to conceal my dark roots. She raises her eyebrows at me. Slowly I lower both my hands and sit on them as she outlines the first campaign in the portfolio.

  ‘The headline fits with the brand’s tone of voice and talks to the audience,’ she explains.

  I’ll have to be all about with this one; she writes like a creative but thinks like an account handler, a rare but brilliant combination.

  ‘And wh
at was your input, David?’ I ask.

  ‘Me? I’m the art-director so obviously I drew it, duh,’ he laughs.

  He thinks he’s being smart trying to make me look dumb. How stupid.

  ‘I meant what was your input on the idea?’ I ask.